"What was he trying to do to me?" retorted Hanscom. "Now you take that
kerchief of yours and tie his hands behind him. If either of you makes
another move at me, you'll be sorry. Get busy now."
Young Kitsong obeyed, awed by the ranger's tone, and Busby was soon
securely tied. He writhed like a wildcat as his strength came back, but
he was helpless, for Hanscom had taken a hand at lashing his feet
together. There was something bestial in the boy's fury. He would have
braved the ranger's pistol unhesitatingly after his momentary daze had
passed, for he had the blind rage of a trapped beast, and his strength
was amazing.
During all this time the girl remained absolutely silent, her back
against the wall, as if knowing that her capture would come next.
Hanscom fully expected her to take a hand in the struggle, but he was
relieved--greatly relieved--by her attitude of non-resistance.
"Now, Henry," he said, with a breath of relief, "I can't afford to let
either you or the senorita out of my sight. I reckon you'll both have to
sit right here and keep me company till morning. Mebbe the senorita will
bustle about and make a pot of coffee--that'll help us all to keep
awake. But first of all I want both her slippers. Bring 'em to me,
Henry."
Kitsong obeyed, and the girl yielded the slippers, the soles of which
seemed to interest Hanscom very deeply.
He continued with polite intonation, "We'll all start down the valley at
daybreak."
"What do you want of me?" asked the girl, hoarsely.
"I want you as a witness to the assault Busby made on me; and then, you
see, you're all housebreakers"--he waved his hand toward the front
window, from which the screen had been torn and the glass broken--"and
housebreaking is pretty serious business even in this country.
Furthermore, you were all concerned in that raid, and I'm going to see
that you all feel the full weight of the law."
All the time he was talking so easily and so confidently he was really
saying to himself: "To take you three to jail will be like driving so
many wolves to market--but it's got to be done."
He was tired, irritable, and eager to be clear of it all. His own cabin
at the moment seemed an ideally peaceful retreat. Only his belief that
in this girl's small shoe lay the absolute proof of Helen's innocence
nerved him to go on with his self-imposed duty. His chief desire was to
place these shoes in the coroner's hands and so end all dispute
concerning the footprints in the flour.
The girl, whose name was Rita, sullenly made coffee, and as she brought
it to him, he continued his interrogation:
"How did you get here?"
"I rode."
"Over the trail? Across the divide?"
"Yes."
"Were you in the raid this morning?"
"What raid? I don't know of any raid."