“Because I meant to send him home, and he didn't want to go. He's crazy to camp out, to hunt and ride.”
“If that's true, Leslie, there's been no word sent to Washington.”
“How could there be?”
“Well, I've got to hold you anyway till we see Buell. His orders were to keep you and Ward prisoners till this lumber deal is pulled off. We're not going to be stopped now.”
Leslie turned crimson, and strained on the lasso that bound him to the sapling. “Somebody is going to pay for this business!” he declared, savagely. “You forget I'm an officer in this forest.”
“I'll hold you, Leslie, whatever comes of it,” answered the lumberman. “I'd advise you to cool down.”
“You and Buell have barked up the wrong tree, mind that, Stockton. Jim Williams, my pardner, is wise. He expects me back tomorrow.”
“See hyar, Stockton,” put in Bill, “you're new in Arizona, an' I want to give you a hunch. If Jim Williams hits this trail, you ain't goin' to be well enough to care about any old lumber steal.”
“Jim hit the trail all right,” went on Dick. “He's after Greaser. It'd go hard with you if Jim happened to walk in now.”
“I don't want to buck against Williams, that's certain,” replied Stockton. “I know his record. But I'll take a chance—anyway, till Buell knows. It's his game.”