The Sheriff's Son
"Reach for the roof."
Dingwell obeyed orders.
Fox came forward very cautiously. Not for an instant did his beady eyes lift from the man he covered.
"Turn your back to me."
The other man did as he was told.
Gingerly Fox transferred the rifle to his left hand, then drew a revolver. He placed the rifle against the fork of a young aspen and the barrel of the six-gun against the small of Dingwell's back.
"Make just one break and you 're a goner," he threatened.
With deft fingers he slid the revolver of the cattleman from its holster. Then, having collected Dingwell's rifle, he fell back a few steps.
"Now you can go on with those health exercises I interrupted if you 've a mind to," Fox suggested with a sneer.
His prisoner turned dejected eyes upon him. "That's right. Rub it in, Chet. Don't you reckon I know what a long-eared jackass I am?"
"There's two of us know it then," said Fox dryly. "Now, lift that gunnysack to your saddle and tie it on behind."
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