The puzzled look of the sheepman told Cullison that Blackwell’s plan of exit for him had not been submitted to the other.
“Your friend from Yuma has been explaining how he has arranged for me to cross the divide,” he went on. “I’m to be plugged full of lead, shot down that rock, and landed in a prospect hole at the bottom.”
“First I’ve heard of it.” Fendrick wheeled upon his accomplice with angry eyes. He was in general a dominant man, and not one who would stand much initiative from his assistants.
“He’s always deviling me,” complained the convict surlily. Then, with a flash of anger: “But I stand pat. He’ll get his before I take chances of getting caught. I’m nobody’s fool.”
Cass snapped him up. “You’ll do as I say. You’ll not lift a finger against him unless he tries to escape.”
“Have you seen the Sentinel? I tell you his friends know everything. Someone’s peached. They’re hot on our trail. Bucky O’Connor is in the hills. Think I’m going to be caught like a rat in a trap?”
“We’ll talk of that later. Now you go look after my horse while I keep guard here.”
Blackwell went, protesting that he was no “nigger” to be ordered about on errands. As soon, as he was out of hearing Fendrick turned his thin lip-smile on the prisoner.
“It’s up to you, Cullison. I saved your life once. I’m protecting you now. But if your friends show up he’ll do as he says. I won’t be here to stop him. Sign up and don’t be a fool.”
Luck’s answer came easily and lightly. “My friend, we’ve already discussed that point.”