“We aint goin’ to hurt ye, not a mite,” he said harshly. “We got Ramsay where we want him, and neither one of ye is going to do any talkin’; that’s all. We’re goin’ to leave him and you here, and fix it so’s ye’ll stay here a spell. Nothin’ to be scared of, miss. If you’ve got any grub, let’s have some. I’ll send ye out plenty from town, as soon as we get back. The water’ll last ye long enough, so there’s nothin’ to be scared of.” “I’ll get what I have,” she said quietly, then turned and went into the tent—whence she presently reappeared, with coffee and bacon, coffee-pot and skillet. Cholo Bill came in with an armload of brush, which he heaped over the fire, arranging several stones to hold the coffee-pot. A moment later Tom Emery strode up, followed by Ximines and Ramsay, who was still gagged and his arms bound. Miss Gilman stood staring at him, wide-eyed—this scratched and bruised and helpless man, with the garments hanging in shreds about him, was somewhat different from the Pat Ramsay she had known previously. “I reckon he needs a shave, ma’am.” Sidewinder chuckled. “But that’ll keep. Set him against that rock, Manuel. The lady can let him loose after we’re gone. Get some water, Tom—the quicker we get a bite to eat and get off, the better.” Disregarding their curious glances, Miss Gilman, looking only at the figure of Ramsay, returned to her tent and sat down before it. Sidewinder and his companions managed a makeshift bite to eat and a swallow of warm coffee apiece; then Sidewinder rose. “We’ll leave the hosses here. Which of you boys can drive a car? Got to take ’em both to town with us.” “I can,” said Tom Emery. “All right—” “Somebody better stay and watch things, and attend to the horses,” spoke up Manuel Ximines, who was rolling one of his evil-smelling cigarettes. “It would be foolish to leave horses here. Why not let me stay? I have nothing to do in town.” Sidewinder nodded, with a slight look of chagrin at the slip he had so nearly made. To have left the horses here unwatched would indeed have been fatal. “All right,” he said curtly. “You stay. Don’t bother the lady none. Better go on down to the lower cañon. I’ll send a driver back with the other boys and a load of grub in one o’ the cars. Then you boys get back to Hourglass in a hurry, and get started. I’ll have José Garcia out here by morning to ride herd on things.” “And shall I hamstring this _hombre_ now?” asked Ximines, gesturing with his cigarette toward Ramsay, who was glad that Miss Gilman could not understand the Mexican tongue. “Let him wait till tonight. You’ll likely need help to hold him down, and we aint got any time to waste now. Come on, boys.” With this, Sidewinder started down the cañon, Tom Emery and Cholo Bill at his heels. Manuel Ximines, however, remained sitting where he was, a thin smile on his black-avised features, in his glittering dark eyes the wild cruelty and the cunning that mark the _marihuana_-smoker.