We'll spend a quiet month up at the
headquarters of Wild-Goose. Say you'll come along."
"You'll go to prison for this, Bill Macy."
"Guess again, Gid, and mebbe you'll get it right this time." Macy turned
to his companions. "George, you bring up the horses. Dud, see if that
bread is cooked. Might as well take it along with us--save us from
baking to-morrow."
"What are you going to do with me?" demanded Holt.
"I reckon you need a church to fall on you before you can take a hint.
Didn't I mention Wild-Goose Creek three or four times?" jeered his
captor.
"Every step you take will be one toward the penitentiary. Get that into
your cocoanut," the old miner retorted sharply.
"Nothing to that idee, Gid."
"I'll scream when you take me out."
"Go to it. Then we'll gag you."
Holt made no further protest. He was furious, but at present quite
helpless. However it went against the grain, he might as well give in
until rebellion would do some good.
Ten minutes later the party was moving silently along the trail that led
to the hills. The pack-horses went first, in charge of George Holway.
The prisoner walked next, his hands tied behind him. Big Bill followed,
and the man he had called Dud brought up the rear.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111