“You are some sweet little lady’s man, Moore,” snarled a new voice raspingly.  “Now let me handle this business my own way.  Go get that team turned around.  I’ll bring the girl.  Come on now, miss, and the less you have to say the better.”

She grasped at the bark, but the fellow wrenched her loose, forcing her forward.  Her resistance evidently angered him, for he suddenly snatched her up into the iron grip of his arms and held her there, despite her struggles.

“Keep still, you damn tiger-cat,” he hissed, “or I’ll quiet you for good.  Don’t take this for any play acting, or you’ll soon be sorry.  There now, try it again on your own feet.”

“Take your hands off me then.”

“Very well—­I will; but I’ve got something here to keep you quiet,” and he touched his belt threateningly.

“What is it you want of me?  Who are you?”

“We’ll discuss that later.  Just now, move on—­yes, straight ahead.  You see that wagon over there?  Well, that is where you are bound at present.  Move on pronto.”

She realised the completeness of the trap into which she had fallen, the futility of resistance.  If the man who seemed in control exhibited any consideration, it was not from the slightest desire to show mercy, but rather to render the work as easy as possible.  She was as helplessly in his power as though bound and gagged.  Before them appeared the dim outline of a canvas covered wagon silhouetted against the sky, to which was hitched a team of horses.

As they approached the shapeless figures of two men appeared in the gloom, one at the head of the team and the other holding back the canvas top.  Her guard gripped her arm, and peered about through the darkness.

“Isn’t Ned here yet?”

“Yes, all right,” answered a muffled voice to the left.  “I just came out; here are the grips and other things.”

“Sure you cleaned up everything?”

“Never left a pin; here, Moore, pass them up inside.”

“And about the note?”

“She wrote that, and pinned it on the pillow.”

“Good, that will leave things in fine shape,” he laughed.  “I’d like to see Jim’s face when he reads that, and the madder he gets the less he will know what to do.”

“And you want us to stay?” asked the other doubtfully.

“Stay—­of course; I am going to stay myself.  It is the only way to divert suspicion.  Good Lord, man, if we all disappeared at once they would know easy enough what had happened.  Don’t you ever believe Westcott is that kind of a fool.  More than that—­there will be no safety for us now until we get him out of the way; he knows too much.  Whereas your fat friend—­old money-bags?”

“He thought it best to keep out of it; he’s back inside.”

“I imagined so; this sort of thing is not in his line.  All ready, Joe?”

The man at the wagon muttered some response.