“I reckon it was, miss,” doubtfully.  “It don’t make no difference, does it, Joe?”

“Not as I kin see,” growled the other.  “Leastwise, her knowin’ thet much.  ’Tain’t likely to do her no good, whichever way the cat jumps.  I reckon I’ll have a smoke, Matt; I’m dry as a fish.”

“Same here; ’bout an hour till daylight, I reckon, Joe; pass the terbacco after yer light up.”

The glow of the match gave her swift view of the man’s face; it was strange and by no means reassuring, showing hard, repulsive, the complexion as dark as an Indian’s, the eyes bold and a bit bloodshot from drink.  Meeting her glance, he grinned unpleasantly.

“I don’t pose fer no lady’s man, like Matt,” he said sneeringly, the match flaring between his fingers.  “That’s what Bill sent me ’long fer, ’cause he know’d I’d ‘tend ter business, an’ not talk too much.”

“Your name is Joe?”

“Out yere—­yes; Joe Sikes, if it pleases yer eny ter know.  Yer might call me Mr. Sikes, if yer want ter be real polite.”

He passed the tobacco-bag up to Moore, who thrust the reins under him while deliberately filling his pipe, the team trotting quietly along what seemed to be a hard road.  The wagon lurched occasionally, as the wheels struck a stone, but the night was still so dark, the girl could perceive little of their surroundings in spite of the looped-up curtains.  There seemed to be a high ridge of earth to their right, crowned by a fringe of low trees, but everything appeared indistinct and desolate.  Outside the rumble of their own progress the silence was profound.

“And you will not tell me where we are going?” she insisted, “or what you propose doing with me?”

The pipe-glow revealed Sikes’s evil countenance; Moore resumed his reins, and there was the sharp swish of a whip lash.

“‘Twouldn’t mean nuthin’ ter yer if I did,” said the former finally, after apparently turning the matter over slowly in his mind.  “Yer don’t know nuthin’ ’bout this country.  ’Tain’t no place a tenderfoot like you kin find yer way back frum; so, as fer as I see, thar ain’t nuthin’ fer yer to do but just naturally wait till we takes yer back.”

“I am to be held a prisoner—­indefinitely?”

“I reckon so; not that I knows enything ’bout the programme, miss; but that’s ‘bout the understandin’ that Matt an’ I has—­ain’t it, Matt?”

The driver turned his head, and nodded.

“Sure; we’re just ter take keer of yer till he comes.”

“Lacy?”

“Er—­some word from him, miss.  It might not be safe for him to come himself.  Yer see,” apologetically, “I don’t just know what the game is, and Bill might want to skip out before you was turned loose.  I knowed wunst when he was gone eight months, an’ nobody knowed where he was—­do yer mind thet time, Joe, after he shot up Medicine Lodge?  Well, I reckon thar must be some big money in this job, an’ he won’t take no chance of gettin’ pinched.  That seems to be the trouble, miss—­you’ve sorter stuck yerself in whar it warn’t none o’ yer business.  Thet’s what got Lacy down on yer.”