Frewen said.
“It won’t be the first time a trap has ever been set for me,” Matt said.
“I’m sure it isn’t. But this one—I mean, to use young Winnie as they are doing is so—diabolical,” Frewen said.
“I’ll grant you that it is,” Matt said. “But they have made a big mistake.”
“How is that?” Frewen asked.
“They’ve given away their hand.”
“I’m the one that is at fault here,” Frewen said. “I let him, indeed I encouraged him, to feel free to ride anywhere on the ranch. It just never dawned on me that he would be in any danger. I mean, what would they want with him? If something happens to my nephew because of me, I will never forgive myself.”
“I am going to find him, Mr. Frewen. I am going to find him and I am going to bring him home safely.”
“Do you think you can do that?” Frewen asked. “Tell me the truth, now. I don’t want you saying just what you think will make me feel better. I want to know if you really think you can do it.”
“Yes, he can,” Jennie said. “I know Mr. Jensen. And I am convinced that he will be able to find and rescue Winnie.”
When they brought Winnie to the little house, they put him over in the corner next to the fireplace. He had seen some of the line shacks during the last several days of his rides around the ranch, and this was just like a line shack, though perhaps a little larger than most he had seen. It couldn’t actually be a line shack though, because it was at the head of a long, deep ravine, or coulee, as he had heard the cowboys call such things.
There were at least six men in the shack, all wearing yellow kerchiefs. And though the men who had abducted him had not been wearing yellow kerchiefs at the time, they had since put them on. This gave them a sense of camaraderie and belonging, as if they were soldiers in an army. Four of the men were playing cards. One of the four, a man without a beard, but with a long, bushy, dark black mustache, had identified himself as Sam Logan. Logan, Winnie knew from the conversations he had overheard, was the head of the gang of rustlers who had been stealing cattle from his uncle. One of the men was cooking, while the sixth was sitting on a bunk, cleaning his gun.
Winnie was frightened, but he was also curious about such men as these, and he watched and listened.
“Hey, kid,” one of the card players said. “I hear you are from England. Is that right?”
“That is correct,” Winnie said.
“Ha,” the questioner said. “‘That is correct,’ he said. You reckon all kids from England talk like that?”
“It ain’t just the kids. You’ve heard Teasdale talkin’, ain’t you? Always so prim and proper.”
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Logan hit the man who had just spoken with a wicked backhanded slap. The blow left the man’s lip bleeding.
“What the hell did you do that for?” he asked, and taking off his yellow scarf, he used the corner of it to dab against the cut on his lip.
“Because you’ve got a big mouth, Poindexter. And you don’t know when to shut up,” Logan said.
“What did I say? All I said was ...”
Logan glared at him, and Poindexter suddenly realized what he had done.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I won’t say anythin’ else.”
“Yes, that’s probably the wisest thing for you to do,” Logan said. He threw down his cards. “Deal me out. Clayton?”
“Yeah?” Clayton replied. Clayton was the one who had been doing the cooking.
“How much longer till we can get some grub?”
“These beans is all done, and I’m takin’ off some pan cornbread now,” he said.
Logan stepped over to the stove, got a bowl of beans and broke off a piece of cornbread. Getting a spoon, he carried the bowl with him and stepped over to squat down beside Winnie.
“Boy, you been listenin’ to what we was talkin’ about?” he asked, as he took a spoonful of the beans.
“No, sir, I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Should I have been? I’m too frightened. I suppose I have just been wondering what was going to happen to me.”
“Nothin’ is going to happen to you if ever’one does what they are supposed to do,” Logan said. He broke off a piece of cornbread and dropped it in his bowl, then scooped it up along with some beans. “Uhhmm. These beans ain’t bad. Clayton used to cook for a big ranch, now he cooks for us, and he makes a lot more now than he used to.” Logan turned to call toward Clayton. “That’s right, ain’t it Clayton? You’re makin’ a lot more now than you used to?”
“A lot more,” Clayton said.
“You hungry? You want somethin’ to eat?”
“No, sir,” Winnie said. “I had a rather good lunch before your three men came to get me. Besides, I am too frightened to eat, now.”
“You’re scared, huh?”
“Yes, sir, very much.”
“Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, kid. You ain’t showin’ it much.”
“I have been taught to keep a stiff upper lip.”
