“Yes.”
“Bates says he won’t let him shoot us.”
Oh, excellent Bates! If it had not been too dangerous an experiment to attempt I would have jumped up and shaken hands with him. Under the circumstances, however, I thought it better to refrain. Percy went on:
“Jack asked him to let us go; but he daren’t. Squeaky would shoot him.”
At this moment Squeaky gave such a snort that he woke himself up, and I heard him say, “All right, Pardner?” To which Bates, as it was no use to nod in the dark, replied aloud, “All right.”
“I guess you may as well turn in,” Squeaky continued. “It isn’t midnight yet, but I’ve had sleep enough, and you want more than I do, anyway.”
Needless to say, we three lay as still as mice while this change was being effected, pretending to be asleep, and my mind being greatly relieved by Bates’s assurance that we should not be shot, my simulated sleep soon turned into the real thing, and I did not move again until Squeaky’s unpleasant voice aroused me next morning to a sense of our situation.
In the same systematic manner in which he had directed affairs the previous evening, Squeaky superintended the cooking of the breakfast and the saddling and packing of the horses and mules. Before that operation was completed, however, Jack requested that his rifle be restored to him. “I might need it,” said he; “especially coming back with the money.”
“That’s a fact,” replied Squeaky. “Yes, you may take your rifle and cartridge-belt. You needn’t load just yet, though.”
“There’s another thing,” said Jack. “I want the correct addresses of these boys’ parents.”