"Who's off?"
"Father and his men—escaped while I kep' you in talk. Fooled, Jesse! Fooled! I fooled you to the eyes! My father's Larry O'Flynn, Captain Larry O'Flynn, captain of the outlaws!" My, there was pride in the lad! He sat on the table in the dusk, fighting to keep awake, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "He's give me leave to join, and I'm hitting the trail to-night—hitting the trail, d'ye hear?" His eyes closed, his voice trailed off to a whisper, and then once more he roused. "I'm a wolf!" he howled. "I come from Bitter Creek! The higher up, the worse the waters, and I'm from the source! Robbery-under-arms, and don't you forget it, Mister Jesse Smith!" He rocked from side to side, gripping hard at the table, muttering threats.
Outside I could hear a rider coming swift, and Dale's voice hailing, "Jesse! Jesse!"
"Jesse," the lad was muttering, "lift his stock, and his woman, burn his ranch, and put his fires out—thatsh the way to—"
Dale had stepped from his horse, and stood in the doorway, making it dark inside. "Where in blazes are you?"
"Look," said I, and Dale watched, for the boy, dead pale, was lurching from side to side, his eyes closed, his lips still moving.
"Only drugged," said I. "Who let them robbers escape?"
"Ransome Pollock," said Dale.
"Who else?"
"Dave."