"'Cause we're tracked. We can't make no dickers. Why, in another day or so we'll be dodgin' lead.""Tracked! Whar 'd you git thet idee? As soon as this?"queried Anson, lifting his head like a striking snake. His men, likewise, betrayed sudden interest.
"Shore it's no idee. I 'ain't seen any one. But I feel it in my senses. I hear somebody comin' -- a step on our trail --all the time -- night in particular. Reckon there's a big posse after us.""Wal, if I see or hear anythin' I'll knock the girl on the head an' we'll dig out of hyar," replied Anson, sullenly.
Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and passionate, so utterly unlike what might have been looked for from him, that the three outlaws gaped.
"Then you'll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid first," he said, in voice as strange as his action.
"Jim! You wouldn't go back on me!" implored Anson, with uplifted hands, in a dignity of pathos.
"I'm losin' my haid, too, an' you shore might as well knock it in, an' you'll hev to before I'll stand you murderin' thet pore little gurl you've drove crazy."
"Jim, I was only mad," replied Anson. "Fer thet matter, I'm growin' daffy myself. Aw! we all need a good stiff drink of whisky."So he tried to throw off gloom and apprehension, but he failed. His comrades did not rally to his help. Wilson walked away, nodding his head.
"Boss, let Jim alone," whispered Shady. "It's orful the way you buck ag'in' him -- when you seen he's stirred up. Jim's true blue. But you gotta be careful."Moze corroborated this statement by gloomy nods.
When the card-playing was resumed, Anson did not join the game, and both Moze and Shady evinced little of that whole-hearted obsession which usually attended their gambling. Anson lay at length, his head in a saddle, scowling at the little shelter where the captive girl kept herself out of sight. At times a faint song or laugh, very unnatural, was wafted across the space. Wilson plodded at the cooking and apparently heard no sounds. Presently he called the men to eat, which office they surlily and silently performed, as if it was a favor bestowed upon the cook.
"Snake, hadn't I ought to take a bite of grub over to the gurl?" asked Wilson.
"Do you hev to ask me thet?" snapped Anson. "She's gotta be fed, if we hev to stuff it down her throat.""Wal, I ain't stuck on the job," replied Wilson. "But I'll tackle it, seein' you-all got cold feet."With plate and cup be reluctantly approached the little lean-to, and, kneeling, he put his head inside. The girl, quick-eyed and alert, had evidently seen him coming. At any rate, she greeted him with a cautious smile.
"Jim, was I pretty good?" she whispered.
"Miss, you was shore the finest aktress I ever seen," he responded, in a low voice. "But you dam near overdid it. I'm goin' to tell Anson you're sick now -- poisoned or somethin' awful. Then we'll wait till night. Dale shore will help us out.""Oh, I'm on fire to get away," she exclaimed. "Jim Wilson, I'll never forget you as long as I live!"He seemed greatly embarrassed.
"Wal -- miss -- I -- I'll do my best licks. But I ain't gamblin' none on results. Be patient. Keep your nerve. Don't get scared. I reckon between me an' Dale you'll git away from heah."Withdrawing his head, he got up and returned to the camp-fire, where Anson was waiting curiously.
"I left the grub. But she didn't touch it. Seems sort of sick to me, like she was poisoned.""Jim, didn't I hear you talkin'?" asked Anson.
"Shore. I was coaxin' her. Reckon she ain't so ranty as she was. But she shore is doubled-up, an' sickish.""Wuss an' wuss all the time," said Anson, between his teeth.
"An' where's Burt? Hyar it's noon an' he left early. He never was no woodsman. He's got lost.""Either thet or he's run into somethin'," replied Wilson, thoughtfully.
Anson doubled a huge fist and cursed deep under his breath -- the reaction of a man whose accomplices and partners and tools, whose luck, whose faith in himself had failed him. He flung himself down under a tree, and after a while, when his rigidity relaxed, he probably fell asleep. Moze and Shady kept at their game. Wilson paced to and fro, sat down, and then got up to bunch the horses again, walked around the dell and back to camp. The afternoon hours were long. And they were waiting hours. The act of waiting appeared on the surface of all these outlaws did.
At sunset the golden gloom of the glen changed to a vague, thick twilight. Anson rolled over, yawned, and sat up. As he glanced around, evidently seeking Burt, his face clouded.
"No sign of Burt?" he asked.
Wilson expressed a mild surprise. "Wal, Snake, you ain't expectin' Burt now?""I am, course I am. Why not?" demanded Anson. "Any other time we'd look fer him, wouldn't we?""Any other time ain't now. . . . Burt won't ever come back!"Wilson spoke it with a positive finality."
"A-huh! Some more of them queer feelin's of yourn --operatin' again, hey? Them onnatural kind thet you can't explain, hey?"Anson's queries were bitter and rancorous.
