“Tell me all about this affair of the West kidnapping,” the ranger suggested. 233
The other man told the story while O’Connor listened, alert to catch every point of the narrative.
The face of the lieutenant of rangers was a boyish one—eager, genial, and frank; yet, none the less, strength lay in the close-gripped jaw and in the steady, watchful eye. His lithe, tense body was like a coiled spring; and that, too, though he seemed to be very much at ease.
With every sentence that the other spoke, O’Connor was judging Flatray, appraising him for a fine specimen of a hard-bitten breed—a vigilant frontiersman, competent to the finger tips. Yet he was conscious that, in spite of the man’s graceful ease and friendly smile, he did not like Flatray. He would not ask for a better man beside him in a tight pinch; but he could not deny that something sinister which breathed from his sardonic, devil-may-care face.
“So that’s how the land lies,” the sheriff concluded. “My deputies have got the pass to the south blocked; Lee is closing in through Elkhorn; and Fox, with a strong posse, is combing the hills beyond Dead Man’s Cache. There’s only one way out for him, and that is over Powderhorn Pass. Word has just reached us that MacQueen is moving in that direction. He is evidently figuring to slip out over the hills during the night. I’ve arranged for us to be met at Barker’s Tank by a couple of the boys, with horses. We’ll drop off the train quietly when it slows up to water, so that none 234 of his spies can get word of our movements to him. By hard riding we’d ought to reach Powderhorn in time to head him off.”
The ranger asked incisive questions, had the topography of the country explained to him with much detail, and decided at last that Flatray was right. If MacQueen were trying to slip out, they might trap him at the pass; if not, by closing it they would put the cork in the bottle that held him.
“We’ll try it, seh. Y’u know this country better than I do, and I’ll give y’u a free hand. Unless there’s a slip up in your calculations, you’d ought to be right.”
“Good enough, lieutenant. I’m betting on those plans myself,” the other answered promptly, and added, as he looked out into the night: “By that notch in the hills, we’d ought to be close to the tank now. She’s slowing up. I reckon we can slip out to the vestibule, and get off at the far side of the track without being noticed much.”
This they found easy enough. Five minutes later number seven was steaming away into the distant desert. Flatray gave a sharp, shrill whistle; and from behind some sand dunes emerged two men and four horses.
“Anything new?” asked the sheriff as they came nearer.