The riders had come silently out of the night, following a little draw driving a small herd ahead of them. He had swept down on them after giving the alarm and they had opened fire instantly. Then something had struck his head, constellations had danced before his glazing eyes, and he had collapsed in the saddle. How much time had elapsed or where he was, were questions he couldn’t answer.
Chuck moved cautiously and learned that he was bound hand and foot. His roving eyes took in his prison. He was lying on the floor of a lean-to, one wall of which was formed by a larger cabin. It was daylight, for he could see the sky through cracks in the roof, but there was no sound to indicate that anyone was near.
The cowboy detective attempted to sit up, and after a painful ordeal, managed to twist his body into a partially upright position. His hands and feet were numb, but there was a little give in the ropes which held his hands and he moved them steadily. The circulation returned to his aching arms. For a time Chuck had hopes of freeing his hands, but he had to give up in defeat and he rolled back onto the floor.
Hours passed before he heard the sound of horses and a few minutes later two riders dismounted within a few feet of the lean-to. He could hear their voices plainly. One he recognized as that of Hack Cook and the other, though familiar, he could not identify.
“Where’s the kid?” he heard the unknown ask.
“Tied up on the floor of the lean-to. He’s got a back nick in his head where one of our bullets grazed him last night.”
Well, that was something. Chuck knew that the raid had taken place only the night before and from the waning sunlight, it must be late afternoon.
The door of the lean-to opened and two masked men entered. The first one he knew was the owner of the Diamond Dot, but the second he could not identify.
Hack Cook bent down and looked at Chuck’s throbbing head.
“He ain’t hurt much. Couple of days and he’ll never know he was hit.”
“I’ll say he won’t,” put in the other rustler. “In a couple of more days he’ll not care what happens. I’m positive this kid and that Slim Evans are cattle dicks.”
“We searched Meade but didn’t find a thing,” replied Cook.
“Makes no difference. These boys are too dangerous to have loose on the range. Why Evans was within a few minutes of you when you were riding in the foothills of the Three Soldiers after you failed to bump off old man Marks. If it hadn’t been for that rain, he’d have gotten you sure.