For
the man who had just come in was Big Bill Macy, and he was looking at
the field agent with eyes in which amazement, anger, and triumph blazed.
"I'm glad to death to meet up with you again, Mr. Elliot," he jeered.
"Seems like old times on Wild-Goose."
"Whad you say his name is?" cut in the man with the newspaper.
"Hasn't he introduced himself, boys?" Macy answered with a cruel
grin. "Now, ain't that modest of him? You lads are entertaining that
well-known deteckative and spy Gordon Elliot, that renowned king of
hold-ups--"
The red-headed man interrupted with a howl of rage. "If you're telling
it straight, Bill Macy, I'll learn him to spy on me."
Elliot was sitting on one of the beds. He had not moved an inch since
Macy had appeared, but the brain behind his live eyes was taking stock
of the situation. Big Bill blocked the doorway. The table was in front
of the window. Unless he could fight his way out, there was no escape
for him. He was trapped.
Quietly Gordon looked from one to another. He read no hope in the eyes
of any.
"I'm not spying on you. My horse is lame. You can see that for yourself.
All I asked was a night's lodging."
"Under another name than your own, you damned sneak.
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