“Nothing particular. We want to see Jim, that’s all. So long.”
What Henderson had guessed was the truth. The continuous hard riding had been too much for Bannister and his wound had opened anew. They were at the time only a few miles from a shack on Dry Creek, where the Lazy D punchers sometimes put up. McWilliams had attended the wound as best he could, and after a few hours’ rest had headed for the cabin in the hills. They were compelled to travel very slowly, since the motion kept the sheepman’s wound continually bleeding. But about noon they reached the refuge they had been seeking and Bannister lay down on the bunk with their saddle blankets under him. He soon fell asleep, and Mac took advantage of this to set out on a foraging expedition to a ranch not far distant. Here he got some bread, bacon, milk and eggs from a man he could trust and returned to his friend.
It was dark by the time he reached the cabin. He dismounted, and with his arms full of provisions pushed into the hut.
“Awake, Bann?” he asked in a low voice.
The answer was unexpected. Something heavy struck his chest and flung him back against the wall. Before he could recover his balance he was pinioned fast. Four men had hurled themselves upon him.
“We’ve got you, Jim. Not a mite o’ use resisting,” counseled the sheriff.
“Think I don’t savez that? I can take a hint when a whole Methodist church falls on me. Who are y’u, anyhow?”
“Somebody light a lantern,” ordered Burns.
By the dim light it cast Mac made them out, and saw Ned Bannister gagged and handcuffed on the bed. He knew a moment of surprise when his eyes fell on Reddy.
“So it was y’u brought them here, Red?” he said quietly.