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From this picture of the condition of some of those convicts that are undergoing punishment, we may turn to the more pleasing view, which a gentleman of large property in Australia, Mr. Potter Macqueen, has drawn of the condition of his own assigned servants.
"Then he is back?" the girl flashed. "Just back." "Tell him I want to see him immediately." "I am to take you to him as soon as you are ready to ride." "Oh, very well." In a very few minutes the young woman was ready. Rosario led her to the cabin in front of which she had seen the old Indian squaw. In it were seated Simon West and Black MacQueen. Both of them rose at her entrance.
She looked at Melissy and answered. The girl had not lived in Southern Arizona for twenty years without having a working knowledge of Spanish. Wherefore, she knew that her captor had ordered his own room prepared for her. While they waited for this to be made ready MacQueen hummed a snatch of a popular song. It happened to be a love ditty.
How?" demanded Black. "Some one must have helped them. I heard a window smash and ran out. The young ranger and another man were coming out of the last cabin with the old man. I could do nothing. They ran." They had been talking in her own language. MacQueen jabbed another question at her. "Which way?" "Toward the Pass." The outlaw ripped out an oath. "We've got 'em.
So MacQueen told her to emphasize his triumph and her helplessness. To her fancy dusk fell over the valley like a pall. It brought with it the terrible night, under cover of which unthinkable things might be done. With no appetite, she sat down to supper opposite her captor. To see him gloat over her made her heart sink. Her courage was of no avail against the thing that threatened.
Occasionally a severe example of punishment was made, and extra labour or stoppage of indulgences, as milk, tea, sugar, or tobacco, were found effectual correction for most faults, whilst additional industry was rewarded by fresh indulgences. Of some deserving men Mr. Macqueen had even brought over the wives and families at his own expense.
MacQueen arose, recovered his dusty hat from the floor, and bowed theatrically. "Your long-lost husband, my dear." "What are you doing here?" "I'm visiting my wife. The explanation seems a trifle obvious." "What do you want?" "Have I said I wanted anything?" "Then you had better leave. I'll give you up if I get a chance." He looked at her with lazy derision. "I like you angry.
"Jeff Hank Steve! Let him know you're alive." Three guns cracked and kicked up the dust close to the sheriff. "What do you want with us?" Flatray asked, sparring for time. "Drop your gun. If you don't we'll riddle you both." West spoke to Jack promptly. "Do as he says. It's MacQueen." Flatray hesitated. He could kill MacQueen probably, but almost certainly he and West would pay the penalty.
By Thursday afternoon we shall have you with us to dinner again. Trust us." "I do." He lowered his voice and glanced at MacQueen, who had been called aside to speak to one of his men. "And I'm glad you're going away from here. This is no place for you." "It isn't quite the place for you, either," she answered, with a faint, joyless smile. They started an hour before midday.
The mountains in front of her tilted into the sky. She moved forward another step, then stumbled and went down. She had fainted. "Just as well," MacQueen nodded. "Here, Rosario, look after the young lady. Lift Flatray to a horse, boys, after you've blindfolded him. Good enough. Oh, and one thing more, Flatray. You're covered by a rifle.
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