"By whose orders did you do it?" he demanded.
"Th' boss's."
"Mr. Hathaway?"
"Not on yer life; it was the big boss this time."
Blount's quick glance aside at his companion was a wordless "I told you
so!" and then to Barto: "Well, now that you have stopped us, what's
next?"
The outlaw grinned again and kicked his horse a little nearer.
"I'm a-holdin' you up sure enough this time, Mr. Blount--jest like
another little Billy th' Kid," he confided. "You're goin' to gimme them
papers you've got in your pocket, and then me an' Kinky we rides away
all peaceful and leaves you and the lady to set down quiet till
somebuddy comes along to pick you up."
Blount put his hand to his head. His wound was throbbing painfully
again, and the pain may have been partly responsible for his answer.
"When you get those papers you'll take them from a dead man, Barto. Do
your instructions go that far?"
The man of many trades swung straight in his saddle and fell into the
attitude of one listening. Then the good-natured grin became a menacing
scowl.
"Shuck them papers out, and do it sudden!" he commanded.
"No," said Blount crisply.
Instantly the timber-looker's pistol was out.
"Give 'em up!" he shouted; "shell 'em out, quick, 'r by the holy--"
The interposition broke in stormily. Down the grade from the upper mesa
level came a touring-car, with a big man at the wheel, a veiled woman
beside him, and three men in the tonneau.
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