Silence followed Billee's long speech. The veteran rancher had thrown a veritable bombshell into camp. Delton—the man lying asleep upstairs—the head of the smugglers! Two thousand dollars' reward! Why, all they had to do was to tie him up and carry him to town—over to the deputy's house. Capturing the smuggling king the first night at the Shooting Star! It seemed too good to be true.
"There's a catch in it somewhere," commented Dick. "No man with a reward like that on his head is going to dump himself into our hands."
"Why not? It wasn't his fault. He came sneakin' around the place to spy on us and got caught by the cyclone. Then a board or something hit him on the head and he fell where we found him. Nothing strange about that! We got him and got him good! Wow, what can't we do with two thousand dollars!"
"There's one thing we forgot, boys," the Kid broke in.
"And what's that?"
"We're downstairs, an' Delton is upstairs."
"That's soon fixed!" Bud cried, as he sprang for the steps. "Let's go, boys!"
"Take it easy!" cautioned the Kid quickly. "What's the use of scarin' him? We'll just go up there and truss him up while he's asleep. Won't hurt him. That cut on the head was all that ailed him. Now, take your time!"
The ranchers moved quietly toward the room in which they had left Delton. As he reached the door, Bud opened it slowly and peered in. Not a sound. Then he stuck his head in a bit further. Still no action. In the darkness he could see the outline of the bed but faintly.
Softly he turned the covers down. Farther—farther! Then he let out a yell.