"Easy," Soames bent his head closer. "We got it all planned. There's only the girl an' that old
devil in that tent. They ain't watchin', they're too sure of us. All right, if you're with us, we'll
just slip over there. Starrett and Danc', they'll take care of the dummy. No shootin'. Just slip
a knife between his ribs. Me an' you'll attend to the girl. We won't hurt her. Just tie her up
an' gag her. Then we'll stow the stuff on a couple of burros, an' beat it."
"Beat it where?" asked Graydon. He edged a bit closer to Dancret, ready to jerk the automatic
from his pocket.
"Beat it out, damn it!" growled Soames. "Me an' Starrett seen a peak to the west both of us
recognized when we come in here. Once we hit it I know where we are. An' travelin' light
an' all night we can be well on our way to it by this time to-morrow. These woods ain't so
thick an' it's full moon."
Graydon moved his hand cautiously and touched Dancret's pocket. The automatic was still
there. Before he made that desperate move he would try one last appeal—to fear.
"But you've forgotten one thing, Soames," he said. "There would be pursuit. What could we
do with those hell-beasts on our track? Why, man, they'd be after us in no time. You couldn't
get away with anything like that."
Instantly he realized the weakness in the argument.
"Not a bit of it," Soames grinned evilly. "That's just the point. Nobody's worryin' about that
girl. Nobody knows where she is an' she don't want 'em to. She was damned anxious not to
be seen this afternoon. No, Graydon—I figure she slipped away from her folks to help you
out. I take my hat off to you—you're a quick worker an' you sure got her hooked. The only
one that might raise trouble is the old devil. He'll get the knife before he knows it. Then
there's only the girl. She'll be damned glad to show us the way out, happen we get lost again.
But me an' Starrett know that peak, I tell you. We'll carry her along so she can't start
anybody after us, an' when we get where we know the country we'll turn her loose for a walk
back home. An' none the worse off either—eh, boys?"
Starrett and Dancret nodded.
Graydon feigned to consider. He knew exactly what was in Soames' mind—to use him in the
cold-blooded murder the three had planned and, once beyond the reach of pursuit, to murder
him, too. Nor would they ever allow Suarra to return to tell what they had done. She would
be slain—after they had thrown her to Starrett.
"Come on, Graydon," whispered Soames, impatiently. "It's a good scheme, an' we can work
it. Are you with us? If you ain't—"
His knife glittered in his hand. Simultaneously Starrett and Dancret pressed close. Their
movement gave him the one advantage he needed. He thrust his hand into the Frenchman's
pocket, plucked out the gun and as he did so landed a side kick that caught Starrett in the
groin. The big man rolled over, groaning. Graydon leaped to his feet. But before he could
cover Soames, Dancret's hands were around his ankles, his legs jerked from under him.
"Suarra!" shouted Graydon as he fell. At least, his cry might awaken and warn her. A second
shout was choked in mid-utterance. Soames' bony hands were around his neck.
He reached up, and tried to break the strangling clutch. It gave a little, enough to let him
grasp one breath. Instantly he dropped his hold on Soames' wrists, hooked the fingers of one
hand in the corner of the New Englander's mouth, pulling with all his strength. There was a
sputtering curse from Soames, and his hands let go. Graydon tried to spring up, but an arm of