“What shall we do?” asked Bill, quite as uneasy as Harry.

“We might put spurs to the horses, but that would only carry us further away from Buttercup.  Don’t act as if you were afraid of anything, Bill.  If they are after me, they can catch me; but it isn’t likely they will want you, so, if it comes to that, you make a bolt and never mind me.”

“Well, I guess!” answered Bill, indignantly.

“Don’t you see you can hurry back to Buttercup and call on the miners.  They will be after me like bloodhounds.”

“Hands up there!” came a sudden command from the rear.

“Turn your horse’s head the other way, Bill,” whispered Harry, “and throw up your hands.  It’ll only be an excuse to shoot, if you don’t.”

They both faced suddenly about and threw up their hands.  It was well, apparently, that they did, for the whole party behind them had their revolvers leveled.

“That is the one on the gray horse,” said a voice, unpleasantly familiar to Harry.

Arthur Hoyt came from behind the other horseman and pointed at Harry.

“What do you want?” demanded Harry.

“We want you, youngster,” said a man who seemed the leader of the party, “if your name is Henry Wainwright.”

“He can’t deny it,” said Hoyt, hurriedly.

“I don’t intend to,” answered Harry, who was beginning to understand this latest move of his enemy, and who had only one object in view, and that to let Bill have a chance to get away.  “My name is Henry Wainwright.  What if it is?”

“I have a warrant for your arrest, on the charge of arson.  So, if you are disposed to be reasonable, you’ll come along with us quietly; if not, I’ll clap on the bracelets.”

No attention was paid to Bill, who, finding himself unmolested, had let his horse wander by the party, cropping the leaves from the bushes until he was a few yards away, when he caught up the reins and was off like a flash.

Some of the party turned and fired a few shots in the air, but did not pursue until they had waited for an order from their chief.

“He’ll alarm the town, and the men will pour out after us,” Hoyt cried.

“Let him,” said the sheriff, contemptuously.  “Alarm the town!  You must think they value boys at a high rate up here, mister.  I thought, from the way you talked, that a regiment wouldn’t be too many.  Why, he’s a lamb!” and the sheriff laughed, and so did his deputies.

Hoyt gnawed his lip and glanced ominously at Harry, as if he had a mind to shoot him where he stood.

“I tell you,” said Hoyt, “that the whole town will be after us.”

“Well, I can’t help it,” replied the sheriff.  “If the whole county comes, they can’t have my two-thousand-dollar prisoner.  I think they know me even in Buttercup, mister.”

Hoyt was powerless to do anything, but Harry was certain that he saw a desperate purpose written on his face, and he determined to be on his guard if the men did come after him.