“Last night, Dick,” answered Dunbar heavily.
“Where were you yesterday, Nate?”
“Captured by some of Benner’s men while I was out looking for strays, turned over to Red Steve, then found and released by Buffalo Bill. That was in the first half of the night. The scout and I rode to the ranch and found everything in the living room in disorder—and Hattie gone.”
A groan was wrenched from Perry’s lips.
“Has it come to this,” he cried, “that these scoundrels must make war on women?”
His tortured soul found vent in language that shocked the minister’s ears.
“Peace, friend,” said Jordan. “You have much to be thankful for. You are not yourself. Try to be composed.”
“How did you fall into the hands of Phelps?” asked the scout, more to get the rancher’s mind to running in another channel than anything else.
“I went looking for Nate,” was the answer, “and some of Phelps’ men roped me in the timber. The noose dropped before I could avoid it, and I was jerked from the back of my horse. They took me to the H-P ranch yesterday noon, and Phelps went to Hackamore to see Benner, report, and get him to send after me. Benner rode over this morning with an escort of cowboys. The plan was to take me to Benner’s ranch, but Phelps and Benner got to drinking and, before we started, Buffalo Bill came.”
Perry turned on the scout, his eyes wide with wonder.