“By bumping you off before you’ve lost it.”
“Sho! You wouldn’t do that,” the ranger murmured ineffectively.
“We’ll see. Jeff, I put him in your charge. Search him, and take him to Hank’s cabin. I hold you responsible for him. Bring me any papers you find on him. When I find time, I’ll drop around and see that you’re keeping him safe.”
Bucky was searched, and his weapons and papers removed. After being handcuffed, he was chained to a heavy staple, which had been driven into one of the log walls. He was left alone, and the door was locked; but he could hear Jeff moving about outside.
With the closing of the door the vacuous look slipped from his face like a mask. The loose-lipped, lost-dog expression was gone. He looked once more alert, competent, fit for the emergency. It had been his cue to let his adversary underestimate him. During the long night ride he had had chances to escape, had he desired to do so. But this had been the last thing he wanted.
The outlaws had chosen to take him to their fastness in the hills. He would back himself to use the knowledge they were thrusting upon him, to bring about their undoing. Only one factor in the case had come upon him as a surprise. He had not 242 reckoned that they would have a personal grudge against him. And this was a factor that might upset all his calculations.
It meant that he was playing against time, with the chances of the game all against him. He had forty-eight hours in which to escape—and he was handcuffed, chained, locked up, and guarded. Truly, the outlook was not radiant.