Bill and another man slipped outside and closed the door behind them. There now remained but two outlaws besides Black Jack. One of them was in a corner on a bunk, moaning from the pain of the broken arm Pete Basset had given him.
Where was Tad? That was the sole thought in Joe Kipp’s mind now. The departure of Bill and the other man lessened the odds.
“Better hog-tie the blattin’ old fool,” suggested Black Jack a moment later to the man who squatted against the closed door, a .45 in his hand.
“Lemme roll a smoke first,” requested Kipp, reaching for tobacco, hoping to delay things till Tad showed.
The man who had gotten to his feet hesitated.
“Tie him, I said. Smoke be——”
Kipp leaped forward. A clubbed gun caught the old officer across the jaw, whirling him about. Another blow from the man’s gun while Black Jack looked on in scowling approval. Kipp sank limply to the floor.
“Neat work. Now tie him afore he comes to. I’ll learn him what happens tuh them that loses their guts in this game.”
XI
