“That’s right. I’ve been wanting to say ‘How d’ye do?’ ever since, Lieutenant O’Connor. I’m right glad to meet you.”
“But—I don’t understand.” He did, however.
“It’ll soak through, by and by. Chew on this: You’ve got just ninety-six hours to live—exactly as long as Tony lived after you caught him! You’ll be killed trying to escape. It will be necessary, just as you say it was with him; but I reckon I’ll not do any regretting to speak of.”
“You would murder me?”
“Well, I ain’t particular about the word I use.” MacQueen leaned against the side of his horse, his arm thrown across its neck, and laughed in slow maliciousness. “Execute is the word I use, though—if you want to know.”
He had made no motion toward his weapon, nor had O’Connor; but the latter knew without looking that he was covered vigilantly by both of the other men. 240
“And who are you?” the ranger asked, though he was quite sure of the answer.
“Men call me Black MacQueen,” drawled the other.
“MacQueen! But you said——”
“That I was Flatray. Yep—I lied.”