"I don't believe it. I've done you no harm."
MacQueen glanced at him contemptuously. The famous Bucky O'Connor looked
about as competent as a boy in the pimply age.
"I thought you had better sense. Do you think I would have brought you to
Dead Man's Cache if I had intended you to go away alive? I'm afraid,
Lieutenant Bucky O'Connor, that you're a much overrated man. Your
reputation sure would have blown up, if you had lived. You ought to thank
me for preserving it."
"Preserving it--how?"
"By bumping you off before you've lost it."
"Sho! You wouldn't do that," the ranger murmured ineffectively.
"We'll see. Jeff, I put him in your charge. Search him, and take him to
Hank's cabin. I hold you responsible for him. Bring me any papers you find
on him. When I find time, I'll drop around and see that you're keeping him
safe."
Bucky was searched, and his weapons and papers removed. After being
handcuffed, he was chained to a heavy staple, which had been driven into
one of the log walls. He was left alone, and the door was locked; but he
could hear Jeff moving about outside.
With the closing of the door the vacuous look slipped from his face like a
mask. The loose-lipped, lost-dog expression was gone. He looked once more
alert, competent, fit for the emergency. It had been his cue to let his
adversary underestimate him. During the long night ride he had had chances
to escape, had he desired to do so. But this had been the last thing he
wanted.
The outlaws had chosen to take him to their fastness in the hills. He
would back himself to use the knowledge they were thrusting upon him, to
bring about their undoing. Only one factor in the case had come upon him
as a surprise. He had not reckoned that they would have a personal grudge
against him. And this was a factor that might upset all his calculations.
It meant that he was playing against time, with the chances of the game
all against him. He had forty-eight hours in which to escape--and he was
handcuffed, chained, locked up, and guarded. Truly, the outlook was not
radiant.