That sounded ominous.
Pool Clayton was called, and came forward with fear and trembling. He had told his mother not long before that he was willing to leave the outlaws, and glad to do it, if she would accompany him. He had been expecting that she would do that soon. It was delayed, he thought, by the difficulty of getting out of the camp.
The young man had been given a good deal of time for serious reflection. His dreams of what a road agent’s life was like had not come true; and, besides, he had been aroused to a realization of the enormity of the offense itself. In addition, his heart had been touched by his mother.
But perhaps the strongest of the forces that had moved him was a recollection of Snaky Pete’s commands to him to shoot old Nomad. That, with his present fear of personal danger in the battle with the troopers that seemed imminent, had made him want to get out of the camp without delay.
It seemed to him that his talks with his mother, and even his thoughts and desires to get away, had become known to Snaky Pete, when the latter sent for him, commanding him sharply to appear at once.
On arriving at the hut, he saw Nomad and Pizen Jane bound and prisoners. A startling fear that he was to be commanded to shoot not only Nomad but his mother came to terrify him.
“Tie him!” Snaky Pete roared.
The road agents threw themselves upon the fear-stricken youth, quickly subdued him, and bound him. Then Snaky Pete took occasion to explain to his men just what he meant to do.
“Buffalo Bill thinks mighty well, seems to me, of them three people,” he said, pointing to the three prisoners. “It’s my opinion that Pool and his mother got in here on purpose to betray the band, and lead enemies to it. In my jedgment, they’d have done something to-night, by way of weakenin’ the barricades, mebbe, that would have got us all killed er captured.”
The murmurs of the desperadoes rose unpleasantly as they listened to these accusations.