“Butch, yuh may be right, at that. I’ve got to trust yuh a little, I suppose; but the first crooked move yuh make will be the last one yuh ever make. Lem me tell yuh somethin’, Butch: yore wonderful detective is upstairs, roped tight and gagged tighter. He tried to sneak in on me a while ago, and I thought he was you; so I slammed him over the head with my gun and packed him upstairs. By God, he made me think he was a stranger. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
“You mean to tell me you’ve got——”
“I’ve got a man of that description, Butch.”
“My God, that’s luck! He was after me and you, Kid. What’s our next move? If he’s upstairs he can hear every word we say.”
“What do we care,” laughed Glover callously. “He ain’t goin’ nowhere. We’ll shut his mouth pretty quick, and then we’ll head for the lava beds.”
“You mean—we’ll bump him off, Kid?”
“Why not? You fool, it’s him or us.”
“Mebby he didn’t come alone, Kid. He’s workin’ with Slim Caldwell, and Hartley’s got a pardner. Better let me have my gun again. Two guns are better than one.”
“I’ll never be anythin’ but a fool, I suppose,” growled the Kid, and Hashknife guessed that Glover gave Butch his gun and belt.
“Better douse that light,” said Butch. “We can light the lamp upstairs. Better wait until I fasten the doors. We don’t want anybody sneakin’ in on us right now.”