We stripped the pistol-belt off him, and a knife. At the same time we
rendered Bevans incapable of hostile movement by anchoring both hands
securely behind his back with a pack-rope. That done, Piegan's bleeding
arm came in for its share of attention. Then we held a council of war.
CHAPTER XXII.
SPEECHLESS HICKS.
When I spoke of holding a council of war, I did so largely in a
figurative sense. Literally, we set about reviving Hicks, with a view to
learning from him what had become of Lyn Rowan. He and Bevans
undoubtedly knew, and as Bevans persisted in his defiant sullenness,
refusing to open his mouth for other purpose than to curse us
vigorously, we turned to Hicks. A liberal amount of water dashed in his
face aided him to recover consciousness, and in a short time he sat up
and favored us with a scowl.
"What has become of that girl you took away from Baker's freight-train
yesterday morning?" MacRae dispassionately questioned.
Hicks glared at him by way of answer.
"Hurry up and find your tongue," MacRae prompted.
"I dunno what you're drivin' at," Hicks dissembled.
"You will know, in short order," MacRae retorted, "if you harp on that
tune. We've got you where we want you, and I rather think you'll be glad
to talk, before long.
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