Hanging to an iron ladder on the side of one of the box cars, still wearing his stolen uniform, was Hector Brady. He was looking toward the three by the tree, and when he saw he had caught their eye he waved his hand.
"Give me that revolver!" cried Graydon. "I'll guarantee to pick him off that ladder with a single shot."
The policeman reached to take the weapon from Ferral's hand, but Matt caught it away before Graydon could get his hands on it.
"Wait," said Matt coolly. "You don't want to kill Brady, Graydon. He's liable to be useful to us."
"Useful?" scoffed the officer excitedly. "Why, the scoundrel is defying us. He's planning to ride past and——"
"You're wrong," interrupted Matt. "Brady is a good ways from being a fool. If he had wanted to get past us he wouldn't have shown himself like he's doing. Ah! What did I tell you?"
While Matt was talking, Brady had suddenly thrown himself from the train at a point where the ground was almost on a level with the rails. He kept his footing like a cat, faced around and started coolly in the direction of Matt, Carl and Graydon.
"Talk about surprises," mumbled Graydon, "why, that fellow is full of 'em. What's he up to now, I wonder? It don't make any difference what his game is, right here is where he gets into a pair of darbies. Keep that revolver handy, King."
Graydon drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Brady gave them a contemptuous glance as he halted within a few feet of Matt.
"You don't need to put those things on me," said he. "I could have got away if I had wanted to—but I didn't want to. I made a bargain with King, and there's too much at stake for me to break it. That's why I'm here."