Part 20 (1/2)
But curiously enough the very hopelessness of their situation inspired in Peggy a far different feeling to the terror that had clutched at her heart a moment before. She was conscious of a swift tide of anger. In one of the figures she had recognized the renegade guide.
”Juan--you!” she exclaimed in tones in which scorn struggled with indignation.
The guide turned away. Even his effrontery wilted before the young girl's frank contempt. It was all clear enough to Peggy now.
Evidently, Juan had been bribed by these men to stay with the party till he had learned their plans, which he was then to betray to the band. For, in the moonlight Peggy had had no difficulty in recognizing the men whose conversation she had overheard at the National House.
There was the red-headed man, with his coa.r.s.e, bristling crop of hair, and the mustache like the stumpy bristles of an old tooth brush, the tall, dark young fellow with the red sash and the silver spurs, poor Peggy's ”romantic brigand,” and the hawk-nosed man with the drooping mustache, who had formed the red-headed one's companion on the train.
”Hearn of Red Bill Summers, I op-ine,” shot out the man with the red hair in a voice that rasped like a file on rusty iron.
”I think so,” rejoined Roy quietly, and Peggy rejoiced to hear her brother's calm, steady tones.
”Wall, I'm him. You treat me right and don't make no fuss an' we'll git along all right. If not--”
He paused significantly.
”Whar's Buck Bellew?”
The red-headed one gazed about him. From the shadows stepped Peggy's ”romantic brigand.”
”Buck, you put a couple of half hitches about them kids.”
”The gal, too?” hesitated the silver-spurred one addressed as ”Buck.”
”Sure. Didn't I tell yer to.”
”Wa-al, I won't. That's flat. I ain't never persecuted women folks an' I ain't goin' ter start now.”
Red Bill Summers paused and then grumbled out:
”All right, then. She kin ride the greaser's horse. Juan, you yellow-skinned bronco, go git ther ponies.”
Juan flitted off and presently reappeared, leading half a dozen wiry little ponies. In the meantime the remainder of the band had gathered about Roy and Peggy, regarding them with frank curiosity.
Except that their weapons were taken away from them no harm was offered them however, and Roy had not, so far, even been tied up.
”This isn't a bit like the story-book hold-ups”, thought Peggy. ”If it wasn't for their rough clothes and fierce looks these men wouldn't be so very different from anyone else.”
”Now, miss, I'll help you to mount. Sorry we ain't got a side saddle, but we don't hev much use fer such contraptions with our outfit.”
It was the red-sashed man speaking. He held out a stirrup for Peggy, and the girl, perforce, mounted the pony. She caught herself wondering as she did so what her friends at home in the East would have thought if they could have seen her at the moment. It was Roy's turn next. Brother and sister were permitted to ride side by side. Juan, to Peggy's secret satisfaction, was compelled to give up his burro to one of the outlaws while he tramped along.
”Serves him right,” thought the girl.
The man whose pony Roy bestrode leaped nimbly into the saddle behind Buck Bellew.
Hardly a word was spoken, but their captors closed in silently about the boy and the girl prisoners.
”Death Valley,” ordered Red Bill briefly, swinging himself into the saddle. Peggy guessed that the sinisterly named place must be their destination.