“The deuce!” I couldn’t help exclaiming, in my surprise. “Are you sure you saw a flag, Miss Cullen?”
“Why—I—thought—” she faltered. “I saw something red, and—I supposed of course—”
Not waiting to let her finish, I exclaimed, “There’s been a fluke somewhere, I’m afraid; but we are still in good shape, for the train can’t possibly be here under an hour. I’ll get my field-glasses and have another look before I decide what—”
My speech was interrupted by the entrance of the sheriff and Mr. Camp!
CHAPTER XI
THE LETTERS CHANGE HANDS AGAIN
What seemed at the moment an incomprehensible puzzle had, as we afterwards learned, a very simple explanation. One of the G. S. directors, Mr. Baldwin, who had come in on Mr. Camp’s car, was the owner of a great cattle-ranch near Rock Butte. When the train had been held at that station for a few minutes, Camp went to the conductor, demanded the cause for the delay, and was shown my telegram. Seeing through the device, the party had at once gone to this ranch, where the owner, Baldwin, mounted them, and it was their dust-cloud we had seen as they rode up to Ash Forks. To make matters more serious, Baldwin had rounded up his cowboys and brought them along with him, in order to make any resistance impossible.
I made no objection to the sheriff serving the paper, though it nearly broke my heart to see Madge’s face. To cheer her I said, suggestively, “They’ve got me, but they haven’t got the letters, Miss Cullen. And, remember, it’s always darkest before the dawn, and the stars in their courses are against Sisera.”
With the sheriff and Mr. Camp I then walked over to the saloon, where Judge Wilson was waiting to dispose of my case. Mr. Cullen and Albert tried to come too, but all outsiders were excluded by order of the “court.” I was told to show cause why I should not forthwith produce the letters, and answered that I asked an adjournment of the case so that I might be heard by counsel. It was denied, as was to have been expected; indeed, why they took the trouble to go through the forms was beyond me. I told Wilson I should not produce the letters, and he asked if I knew what that meant. I couldn’t help laughing and retorting,—