"Weatherby's out there. Anything or anyone gettin' by him would have to come in on wings." "An' wings don't come natural to this breed of critter! All right, I don't see how theah's much else we can do. We can't go pullin' the kid 'round any more. I'll give Weatherby the high sign an' make it back as quick as I can. Let's see if these heah ropes is staked out tight." He made a careful inspection of their three captives' bonds, and Drew laid the assorted armament to hand. But Kirby hesitated by the door. "You keep your eyes peeled, amigo. Weatherby--he can pull that in-and-out game through the loft like he did before. But one man can't be all over the range at once." "I know." Drew studied the remnants of battered furniture about the room. He thought he could pull the bed frame across the outer door, and shove the table and bench in front of the door to the lean-to. And there was a section of wall right under the broken window which could not be seen by anyone outside. "I've some precautions in mind." "I'm ridin' then. See you." Kirby was gone with a wave of hand. Boyd was quiet again. The broth must have soothed him. Drew shifted the other's body to the floor on the spot of safety under the window. As he returned to gather up the arms he noted that Jas' was watching him. Some of the first shock of his wound had worn off so that the guerrilla was not only aware of his present difficulties but was eyeing Drew in a manner which suggested he had not accepted the change in their roles as final. Drew hesitated. He could tie back that wounded hand, too, but he was sure the other could not use it to any advantage, and Drew could not bring himself to cause the extra pain such a move would mean. Not that he had any illusions concerning the bushwhacker's care for him, had their situation been reversed. Simmy, once Kirby had gone, moved against the wall, holding up his head with a sigh of relief. He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. And when the scout did not pay any attention to him he spoke. "Wotcha gonna do wi' us, Reb?" Hatch's eyes, over the gag, were glaring evil; Jas' was watching the two Confederates with an intent measuring stare; but Simmy wilted a little when Drew looked at him directly. "You're prisoners of war. As Union scouts...." Simmy wriggled uncomfortably, and Drew continued the grilling. "You _are_ Union scouts?" "Shore! Shore! We's Union, ain't we, Jas'?" he appealed eagerly to his fellow. Jas' neither answered nor allowed his gaze to wander from Drew. "Then you'll get the usual treatment of a prisoner." Drew was short, trying to listen for any movement beyond the squalid room. Weatherby was out there, and Drew put a great deal of trust in the Cherokee's ability. But what if the "captain" and the remaining members of this outlaw gang arrived before Kirby returned with help? Seeing that Boyd appeared to be asleep, Drew once again inspected his weapons, checking the loading of revolvers and rifle.