Close
behind him came old Hiram Bent, slower, more cautious, but no less
formidable. As these men glanced around with fiery eyes the quick look of
relief that shot across their faces told of ungrounded fears.
"Where's Buell?" sharply queried Dick.
Jim Williams did not reply, and a momentary silence ensued.
"Buell lit out after the Greaser," said Bill, finally.
"Cut and run, did he? That's his speed," grimly said Dick. "Here, Bent,
find some rope. We've got to tie up these jacks."
"Hands back, an' be graceful like. Quick!" sang out Jim Williams.
It seemed to me human beings could not have more eagerly and swiftly obeyed
an order. Herky and Bill and Bud jerked their arms down and extended their
hands out behind. After that quick action they again turned into statues.
There was a breathless suspense in every act. And there was something about
Jim Williams then that I did not like. I was in a cold perspiration for
fear one of the men would make some kind of a move. As the very mention of
the Texan had always caused a little silence, so his presence changed the
atmosphere of that cabin room. Before his coming there had been the element
of chance--a feeling of danger, to be sure, but a healthy spirit of give
and take. That had all changed with Jim Williams's words "Hands up!" There
was now something terrible hanging in the balance.
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