With that Bud and Bill began kicking in the piles of brush.
“Aha! Hyar's the place,” sang out Bud.
In one corner of the back wall a rotten log had crumbled, and here it was plain to all eyes that Greaser had slipped out. I remembered that on this side of the cabin there was quite a thick growth of young pine. Greaser had been able to conceal himself as he crawled toward the horses, and had probably been seen at the last moment. Herky-Jerky was the only one to make comment.
“I ain't wishin' Greaser any hard luck, but hope he carried away a couple Of 45-90 slugs somewheres in his yaller carcass.”
“It'd be worth a lot to the feller who can show me a way out of this mess,” said Buell, mopping the beads of sweat from his face.
I got up—it seemed to me my mind was made up for me—and walked into the light of the room.
“Buell, I can show you the way,” I said, quietly.
“What!” His mouth opened in astonishment. “Speak up, then.”
The other men stepped forward, and I felt their eyes upon me.
“Let me go free. Let me out of here to find Dick Leslie! Then when you go to jail in Holston for stealing lumber I'll say a good word for you and your men. There won't be any charge of kidnapping or violence.”