Part 8 (1/2)
”The band or the man?” questioned Tad.
”That was the man's name. Billy McKay. He's a captain of Rangers, or something of the sort, it doesn't matter much what.”
”I rather think it does,” answered Butler dryly.
”How so?”
”Why, don't you see, it means that if the Texas Rangers are after this fellow he must be wanted for something very serious. Who is he?”
”You may search me. Stacy may be right after all. There are plenty of Germans in Mexico, so why not some of them up here to stir up trouble? He looks like pictures I have seen of some of those Hun a.s.sa.s.sins,” declared Ned Rector.
”I think I will search him. He may have some more weapons about his person.”
Tad found a bowie knife in the mountaineer's boot, but that was the only weapon left on his person. Tad threw the knife away. About this time the prisoner began to show signs of returning consciousness.
”You must have hit him an awful wallop,” wondered Ned, standing over the man and eyeing him narrowly.
”I did. I hit him first with a stone, then with my fist. I skinned my knuckles, too.”
Ned grunted.
”I'd hate to have you land on me that way. That surely was a sockdolager. He has his eyes open.”
”Oh, hullo!” greeted Butler. ”We rather turned the tables on you, didn't we?”
”I'll kill you for this!” growled the prisoner hoa.r.s.ely.
”I don't think you will kill anybody to-night. What I would like to know is what you mean by trying to shoot us up.”
”I'll shoot up the rest of you before I get through with you, you and your whole gang. You can tell Bill McKay what I say and---”
”We don't know Bill McKay. We have nothing to do with any of you people down here. We are here for pleasure.”
”That's what the other cayuse said. Looks like you wuz, hey?”
”You alone are to blame for present conditions. We were not looking for you. You began shooting at us before we got into the foothills.
Who were you shooting at the last time? I mean before you tried to pot me just now.”
A growl was the only answer.
”The question is, what are we going to do with this fellow, Tad?” asked Ned. ”Surely it won't be safe to let him go, and we can't leave him here to starve to death.”
”No. I'll tell you what. We will fix up a litter---by the way, fellow, are there any more of your kind fooling about here?”
”You'll find out whether there are or not,” grunted the prisoner.
”Thank you. You have answered my question. I now know you are alone.
Ned, can you cut down a couple of saplings?”
”Where do you want to carry him?”