"Boys," he said, "we're holding a warrant for your partner, and we've got to have him."
"Nobody's stopping you," one of them answered. "We haven't a place to hide him in unless he's crawled down a gopher-hole."
As a gopher is smaller than an ordinary squirrel, the point of this was evident, and while a laugh went up the policemen conferred together in front of the iron shack; then, after looking in, they walked around to the back of it. They had no doubt already noticed the cook-shed, but as it was very small and the door stood partly open, it appeared a most unpromising place for the fugitive to seek refuge. Now, however, they moved close to it, and Winthrop, sitting back in the shadow, became dimly visible.
"Come out! We've got you!" one trooper cried.
The man did not move, but he had something in his hand, which was stretched out toward the stove. One of the pot-holes in the top of the stove was open, and a faint glow shone upon the object he held clenched in his fingers. It bore, as Corporal Slaney noticed, no resemblance to a pistol.
"Come out!" he repeated. "There's no use in making trouble."
"I guess I'll stay a while right where I am."
"If you're wise you'll wait outside, Corporal."
Slaney stood still just outside the door, peering into the shed; and the trooper behind him had his carbine ready.
"Don't be foolish, Jake. We've got you sure," he called.
He moved a pace nearer, and Winthrop leaned forward a little farther over the pot-hole.
"See what this is?" he inquired, glancing down at the object in his hand.
"It's not a gun, anyway," said the trooper to his superior.
"It's a stick of giant-powder. There's a detonator in it and an inch or two of fuse. As soon as you're inside the door I drop it in the stove."
Slaney promptly recoiled a yard or two. Having had some experience in dealing with men driven to extremities, he knew that Winthrop's warning was not empty bluff. There was something in the man's voice that convinced him that he meant what he said. For the next few moments he and the trooper stood irresolutely still, wondering what they should do, while the motionless figure quietly watched them through the doorway. The corporal was by no means timid or overcautious, and had Winthrop held a pistol it is highly probable that he would have attempted to rush him. Except in the hands of a master of it, the short-barreled weapon is singularly unreliable, and shots fired by a man disturbed by fear or anger as a rule go wide; but the stick of dynamite meant certain death. Slaney had not the nerve to face that, and, besides, as he rightfully reflected, it would serve no purpose except to nip in the bud the career of a promising police officer. Then Winthrop spoke again.