Ted wished now that he had taken Stella’s advice, and had not rushed in so rashly.  Had he waited for Bud and two or three of the boys to come to his assistance, he could easily have caught the whole lot for their cabin was in a perfect pocket from which they could not have escaped.

Who were these rough fellows with whom Checkers would not associate, for Ted could hear his archenemy pacing up and down outside, and he had not forgotten how he had addressed these men?

Probably they were only ordinary villains who did the dirty work planned by the wiser heads of the syndicate.  He wondered if the boys would be able to find him before they settled with him, as they had promised.

After the men had finished their meal the voice of the leader summoned them outside.  Ted could hear commands being given in a low voice, and mumbles from the men.

It appeared from what Ted could gather from the tones of the voice, rather than from any words that he caught, that one of the men was protesting against what Checkers was ordering.

Suddenly there was a cry of agony.

“Don’t do that, boss,” said one of the men.

“Shut up, or you’ll get a taste of the same knife,” came the voice of Checkers in a tone of rage.  “When I say a thing must be done it is as good as done.  Now go ahead and do as I tell you.”

“But, boss—­”

“Go on, and do it.  Are you a coward?  You’ve done it before,” Ted heard Checkers say.  “I’m going away now, and if you can’t show me what I want when I get back, well—­you know.”

In a moment Ted heard the chug of the motor car, then the grating of the tires on the earth as it started away.

“Remember what I said,” the voice of Checkers came floating back.

“Say, Bill, this is a derned outrage,” said one of the men outside.  “I, fer one, am not in favor of standin’ for it.”

“Well, if yer don’t, you’ll get the same,” said other man.

“I never see any one so handy with that bloomin’ knife o’ his.”

“Look out you don’t get a taste o’ it, then.”

“Is he dead, Bill?”

There was a shuffling of feet outside, and Ted knew that they were turning a body over.

“Yes, he’s stone-dead.”

“Pore Dick!  He had his faults, but he was a good pal.”

“He wuz, but too derned soft-hearted.  He didn’t want ter kill a feller in cold blood never.”

“An’ yet he wa’n’t no coward.  I never see ther time Dick w’d refuse ter fight if ther other feller had some show, an’ he wa’n’t squeamish about holdin’ up a train er runnin’ off a bunch o’ cattle, but I always hear him say thet he didn’t take no stock in plain, straight murder.”

“That’s so, but it’s not murder, Tom, when yer kills ther feller what’s yer enemy.  Now, honor bright, is it?”

“I dunno.  I was brought up ter fight, an’ fight like ther devil hisself when it come ter fightin’, but I reckon I’m too much o’ a derned coward ter murder cold.”