For several minutes after that last swift movement of Jolly Roger’s, Peter lay where his master had left him, his eyes fairly popping from his head in his eagerness to see what was happening.  He heard voices, and then the wild thrill of Jolly Roger’s laughter, and restraining himself no longer he trotted cautiously to the open door of the cabin.  In a chair sat the stranger with the broad-brimmed hat and high boots, with his hands securely tied behind him.  And Jolly Roger was hustling about, filling a shoulder-pack in the last light of the day.

“Cassidy, I oughta kill you,” Jolly Roger was saying as he worked, an exultant chuckle in his voice.  “You don’t give me any peace.  No matter where I go you’re sure to come, and I can’t remember that I ever invited you.  I oughta put you out of the way, and plant flowers over you, now that I’ve got the chance.  But I’m too chicken-hearted.  Besides, I like you.  By the time you get tired of chasing me you should be a pretty good man-hunter.  But just now you lack finesse, Cassidy—­you lack finesse.  “And Jolly Roger’s chuckle broke into another laugh.

Cassidy heaved out a grunt.

“It’s luck—­just damned luck!” he growled.

“If it is, I hope it keeps up,” said Jolly Roger.  “Now, look here, Cassidy!  Let’s make a man’s bet of it.  If you don’t get me next time—­if you fail, and I turn the trick on you once more—­will you quit?”

Cassidy’s eyes gleamed in the thickening dusk.

“If I don’t get you next time—­I’ll hand in my resignation!”

The laughter went out of Jolly Roger’s voice.

“I believe you, Cassidy.  You’ve played square—­always.  And now—­if I free your hands—­will you swear to give me a two hours’ start before you leave this cabin?”

“I’ll give you the start,” said Cassidy.

His lean face was growing indistinct in the gloom.

Jolly Roger came up behind him.  There was the slash of a knife.  Then he picked up his shoulder-pack.  At the door he paused.

“Look at your watch when I’m gone, Cassidy, and be sure you make it a full two hours.”

“I’ll make it two hours and five minutes,” said Cassidy.  “Hittin’ north are you, Jolly Roger?”

“I’m hittin’—­bushward,” replied the outlaw.  “I’m going where it’s plenty thick and hard to travel, Cassidy.  Goodby—­”

He was gone.  He hit straight north, making noise as he went, but once in the timber he swung southward, and plunged through the creek with Peter under his arm.  Not until they had traveled a good half mile over the plain did Jolly Roger speak.  Then he said, speaking directly at Peter,

“Cassidy thinks I’ll sure hit for the North country again, Pied-Bot.  But we’re foolin’ him.  I’ve sort of planned on something like this happening, and right now we’re hittin’ for the tail-end of Cragg’s Ridge where there’s a mess of rock that the devil himself can hardly get into.  We’ve got to do it, boy.  We can’t leave the girl—­just now.  We can’t leave—­her—­”