him free of surveillance: or perhaps the watcher had nodded. At any rate it was too good a chance to lose. And at every moment the chance grew better, for the sun was touching the mountains.
At the end of an hour he came over the edge of a grass hill square upon Bill Hunter seated in the buckboard smoking his pipe.
"Nice day for a walk," said Bill. "Fellow gets farther than he thinks. Thought you might like a lift back. It's getting close to supper time."
Boyd stared. How had the man contrived to intercept him in this uncanny fashion? Never mind that for the present. His eye had noticed the spirited, restless team and an idea had struck him.
"I'm through with your foolishness; and you drive on out of the way. I'm not going with you."
"Oh, yes you are."
"How will you make me?"
Bill surveyed him lazily.
"If this was the wild west," said he. "I'd pull a gun on you and tell you to climb in."
"A lot of attention I'd pay to your gun!" returned Boyd, contemptuously. "I'm not fool enough to think that you mean murder. I'd call your bluff. You wouldn't shoot."
"Oh, I wouldn't mind," said Bill, his voice hardening for a moment. "But we needn't argue that: it ain't necessary. I can handle two of you, and I'll just lift you in like a baby. Want me to show you?"
Boyd grinned triumphantly, and stooped to pick up a handful of the hard adobe.
"The first little move you make toward leaving your seat I'll bombard your horses. I think you'd have your hands full then. Now you drive right on peacefully ahead of me until we get to the stage station. I know something about horses, and I know a few handfuls of this will give you something to manage, even if you were as big as a house."
"Ingenious cuss, ain't you?" observed Bill. "But I was aiming to let Chino hold the horses."
