Part 53 (1/2)

Hanscom mockingly chimed in. ”That's mighty fine and self-sacrificing, but it won't do. The rider who fired that shot was a man. But I'll leave it to Henry. Bring around the horses, and remember, if you slip out with that bay horse I'll _know_ you rode the sorrel yesterday.”

The situation had become too complicated for the girl, who fell silent, while Busby cursed the ranger in fierce, set terms. ”What right have you got to arrest us, anyhow?”

”All the right I need. That shooting began inside the forest boundary, and it's my duty to see that you are placed in the hands of the law.”

Here his voice took on a note of grim determination. ”And I want you to understand there will be no funny business on the way down.”

”How can I ride, all tied up like this?” demanded the ruffian.

”Oh, I'm going to untie you, and you are going to come along quietly--either as live stock or freight--you can take your choice.”

Busby, subdued by several hours on the floor, was disposed to do as he was told, and Hanscom unbound his legs and permitted him to rise.

As young Kitsong brought the horses around in front of the cabin, Hanscom was not disappointed in finding the girl's saddle on the sorrel.

He made no comment.

”Now, Busby, we'll mount you first,” he said, and slipped the bridle from the horse. ”You see, to make sure of you I am going to lead your pony.” He then untied the youth's hands. ”Climb on!” he commanded.

Busby silently mounted to his saddle, the girl took the sorrel, and at command Kitsong started down the trail.

”You go next,” said Hanscom to the girl, ”now you, Busby,” he added, and with the rope across the horse's rump--the trick of a trained trailer--he started down the trail.

Sinister as this small procession really was, it would have appeared quite innocent to a casual observer as it went winding down the hill. No one at a little distance would have been able to tell that in the silent determination of the horseman in the rear lay the only law, the only bond which kept these four riders in line. Neither Busby nor Kitsong nor the girl doubted for an instant that if any of them made a deflection, a rush for freedom, they would be shot. They knew that as a Federal officer he had certain authority. Just how much authority they could not determine, but they were aware that the shooting had begun in the forest, which was his domain.

As they sighted Watson's cabin Hanscom was curious to know whether nearing the scene of the crime would have any perceptible effect on Busby. ”Will he betray nervousness?” he asked himself.

Quite the contrary. As he came opposite the house, Busby turned in his saddle and asked, ”When was Watson killed?”

”n.o.body knows exactly. Some time Monday night,” answered the ranger.

A few miles down the road they met a rancher coming up the valley with a timber-wagon, and to him the ranger explained briefly the nature of his expedition, and said:

”Now, Tom, I reckon you'll have to turn around and help me take these youngsters to the sheriff. I would rather have them in your wagon than on horseback.”

The rancher consented with almost instant readiness.

The prisoners were transferred to the wagon, and in this way the remainder of the trip was covered.

V

The county jail was a square, brick structure standing in the midst of a grove of small cottonwood-trees (planted in painful rows), and the sheriff's office and his wife's parlor, situated on opposite sides of the hall, occupied the front part of the first story, while the rear and the bas.e.m.e.nt served as kitchen and dungeon keep. Generally the lockup was empty and the building quite as decorous as any other on the street, although at certain times it resounded with life. On this day it was quiet, and Throop and his wife, who served as matron, were sitting under a tree as the rancher's wagon halted before the gate.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon and Hanscom's prisoners were dusty, tired, and sullen as they filed up the walk toward the sheriff, who awaited their approach with an inquiring slant to his huge head. Mrs. Throop retreated to the house.

When at close range Hanscom with a weary smile said, ”I've brought you some new boarders, Mr. Sheriff.”

”So I see,” said the officer, as he motioned them to enter the door.

”What's it all about?”

”It's a long story,” replied the ranger, ”and of course I can't go into it here, but I want you to take charge of these people while I see Carmody and find out what he wants done with them. I think he'll find them valuable witnesses. Incidentally I may say they've been shooting a horse and breaking and entering a house.”