“You know, I don’t think I’m going to like you at all. I shouldn’t be surprised if I had serious trouble with you yet. But lead on!”
Ross’s persiflage was far from pleasing to the gunman. He glared malevolently at Ross for a moment, as if half minded to inflict physical punishment, finally thought better of it, and then jerked out, “I ain’t leadin’; I’m followin’. Git movin’!”
Ross was conducted to the largest of the group of ’dobe buildings, evidently used as a dwelling, and was ushered directly into a bedroom.
He had expected anything except what he now saw. The room was such as might have been found in a brown-stone mansion on Fifth Avenue. The floor was covered with a deep soft rug. There was a mahogany bed, with a spotless white spread, and a dressing-table of the same wood. To one side of the latter stood a full-length plate mirror.
“The big boss said ya was to shave, an’ then ya was ta dress fer dinner. Yo’ll find all tha togs there on that bed.” The gunman directed Ross’s attention to the bed with a flourish of his gun.
Ross looked. The garments on the bed comprised a complete evening outfit, from studded shirt to patent-leather pumps.
He was surprised to find that the clothes fit him well. The pumps were a trifle tight and the suit was a bit snug, but a half hour later, when he surveyed himself in the long pier glass, he was well satisfied.
“All right, keeper, let’s be on our way. I’m curious,” he said.
His captor conducted him down the long veranda, and a moment later he was ushered into a large room where a table was laid for dinner.