"On the way back to the penitentiary. A fellow give the deputy sheriff a drink on the train. It was doped. We had that fixed. The keys to the handcuffs was in the deputy's pocket. When he went to sleep we unlocked the cuffs and I got off at the next depot. Horses was waitin' there for us."
"Who do you mean by us? Who was with you?"
"I don' know who he was. Fellow said Brad Steelman sent him to fix things up for me."
Thomas borrowed the field-glasses of Crawford. Presently he lowered them. "Two fellows comin' hell-for-leather across the valley," he said in a voice that expressed his fears.
The cattleman took the glasses and looked. "Shorty's found a friend. Dug Doble likely. They're carryin' rifles. We'll have trouble. They'll see we stopped at the haid of the pass," he said quietly.
Much shaken already, the oil prospector collapsed at the prospect before him. He was a man of peace and always had been, in spite of the valiant promise of his tongue.
"None of my funeral," he said, his lips white. "I'm hittin' the trail for
Malapi right now."
He wheeled his horse and jumped it to a gallop. The roan plunged through the chaparral and soon was out of sight.
"We'll fix Mr. Miller so he won't make us any trouble during the rookus,"
Crawford told Dave.
He threw the coiled rope over the heaviest branch of the cedar, drew it tight, and fastened it to the trunk of the tree.