"How much longer am I to remain here?" demanded the guard.
"Until there is no longer need of guarding the window," was the reply.
"You are the only man here I can trust. You must remain on guard."
"He has as yet made no move to escape," the guard said, in fair English.
"I know that very well," came in Big Bob's voice, "for I have heard no shooting."
So that was why he had been left alone there so long! He was to be
permitted to leave the hut by way of the window, and was to be
murdered as soon as he touched the ground. The renegade figured
that there could be no penalty for shooting at an escaping man who
was charged with a serious crime.
"Perhaps it is just as well," Big Bob said, directly, "for I have
not talked with him yet."
"Then you'd better do so at once," grunted the guard. "This is no
picnic out here in the rain!"
"Have patience!" replied the renegade, and the voices ceased.
In a few moments Fremont heard the renegade at his door, speaking
in a whisper to the guard there. Then the door was opened and the
big fellow came bulkily into the room.
Fremont glanced up at the brutal face, only half revealed by the
flaring candle he carried on a level with his enormous ears, but
did not speak. From the outer room came a clatter of Spanish words.
"I have been wondering," the fellow said, in a voice which showed a
degree of education and culture not proclaimed by the coarse face,
"why you attacked Cameron?"
"I didn't!" replied Fremont, hotly.
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