He rode down to Reno and there boarded the Overland. A couple of hours later he left it at a small way station and engaged a saddle horse. He guessed that if the fugitives had gone to Piodie they would leave watchers to report on any strangers who might come to town. Therefore, four miles out of Piodie he left the road, took a cow trail that swung round Bald Knob, and dropped down a little gulch that led to the back of the Pony Express Corral, and under cover of dusk slipped into the stable. Byers was there alone. “How’s Scot?” he asked. “Bad,” said Hugh, and his haggard face twitched. “Doctor don’t think he’ll make it. What about Dutch?” “Got in last night.” “Dodson with him?” The small man nodded. He was always parsimonious of words. “Know where he is now?” “At the Katie Brackett. Rode right out there.” Hugh knew that this meant his enemies were playing it safe. The Katie Brackett was owned and controlled by the Dodsons. Here they were on home territory, surrounded by adherents. If a sheriff’s posse appeared on the road leading to the mine Dutch would be safely underground in one of the levels long before it reached the shaft house. There he would be as secure as a needle in a haystack. Even if the sheriff elected to search the mine, the bad man could play hide and seek with the posse in a hundred stopes, drifts, and crosscuts. “Ralph Dodson in town?” “No. Virginia.” This was one piece of good news. With the younger mine owner absent he would have one less enemy to contend with, and the most dangerous of the three. For Ralph was game, audacious, and brainy. It would hardly have been possible to get the killer out of Piodie with young Dodson running the campaign for him. “I’m goin’ up after him,” Hugh said quietly. “With that gang round him?” “Maybe I’ll catch him alone.” “And maybe not.” Byers stepped to the wall and took down from a peg a belt to which was attached a revolver. He strapped on the belt. “No, Dan,” Hugh told him. “I’m playin’ a lone hand. My only chance is to lie low and surprise Dutch before he knows I’m within a hundred miles.” “Hmp! What if he surprises you?” “I’ll be Number Sixteen. But he won’t. I’m goin’ to take him back to Carson.” There was a sound of feet moving at a shuffling run. A man burst through the doorway and stopped at sight of them. The runner was Jim Budd. For a few moments he stood panting, unable to find his breath for speech. “What’s up, Jim?” asked Hugh. The fat man wheezed out an answer. “H-hell to pay! The Katie Brackett’s afire, an’ the day shift’s down in her, caught in a drift.” CHAPTER XXVII TRAPPED