“Bell’s Camp just ahead,” he said. “Don’t make any mistake. When we’re ordered to halt, all our hands go straight up in the air.”
He wished now that he had not let the girl come with them. It had been easy to reason in the light of day that she would be quite safe. But Dodson did not know she was in the party. Suppose someone got excited and fired in the darkness. Hugh’s imagination began to conjure disaster.
But the affair worked out quite simply. From behind rocks on both sides of the road men rose suddenly and covered the party with rifles.
“Stick ’em up. Reach for the sky,” a voice ordered curtly.
Six hands went up instantly, almost as though they had been waiting for the cue.
“You may pull yours down, Dutch,” the voice went on.
Hugh spoke suavely: “Must be some mistake, gentlemen. Mr. Dutch isn’t with us.”
“Not with you! What’s the use of lying? Speak up, Dutch.”
“If you’re meanin’ me, my name’s Budd—Jim Budd from Piodie,” spoke up the fat man.
The challenger stepped close and stared up at his face. “Where’s Dutch? What have you done with him?” he demanded.