ly and a voice muttered, "It's a couple of
kids!"

Rick struggled, but subsided when it became clear that he could do
nothing but wrench his arms out of joint.

A man muttered, "Rope in the car trunk."

Feet sounded on the boards of the hotel. Rick tried to pierce the gloom,
to see his captors, but there wasn't enough light to see more than vague
shapes. He had never heard the voices before. The feet came back. The
voice said, "Lash 'em tight."

Rick was dumped face down on the dusty floor. Expert hands tied his
wrists and ankles tight and lashed them together, with his knees bent at
an acute angle and his shoulders pulled back. Next to him he sensed that
Scotty was getting the same treatment.

A voice whispered, "Wonder who they are?"

"Doesn't matter," the first voice said. "We'll be out of here in fifteen
minutes, if the others keep to schedule, and we won't be back. We can't
use this place again."

A third voice broke in. "I didn't see a car. They must have cached it
somewhere."

"You're right," the first voice agreed. "Find it, and fix it. Where'll
we put these kids?"

The second voice had a suggestion. "The old jail across the street. We
can lash 'em to the bunks."

Rick felt himself lifted like a sack of grain. He swayed as the man
lugged him through the front of the hotel, across the porch, and into
the street. His captor rounded the car that was waiting there and Rick
strained to turn his head, to try to see the license plate, but couldn't
catch a glimpse of it.

A creaky door was swung open and he was carried into an inner room and
dropped face down. It knocked the breath out of him for a moment. When
he recovered, he was tightly lashed to a rusty iron frame. His groping
fingers felt the frame and the rope, but the knots were beyond his
reach.

A voice asked, "Will we turn 'em loose later? We don't want 'em to die
in here."

"They won't. They can get loose, but it will take a while and we'll be
long gone. Come on."

The door creaked again. Rick listened to the sound of footsteps across
loose boards, then there was silence.

Scotty whispered, "What do we do now? Wait for the Lone Ranger and
Tonto?"

Rick had to grin, in spite of their plight. "Looks like it," he agreed.
There was something ridiculous about being bundled into an antique
Western jail. "Anyway, we didn't get bitten by that blasted snake."

"That worried me plenty," Scotty agreed. "Can you move at all?"

Rick's fingers had