“Think I’m easy?” snorted the cowboy. “When them from the back part o’ the house come here, Dunbar’ll hike through the kitchen door an’ git inter the woods.” “Dunbar isn’t going to run,” declared the scout. “I knew you men were coming from the Phelps ranch, and brought the news here two or three hours ago. If Nate had wanted to run he would have had plenty of chance. He’s an innocent man, and I think I can make you fellows see it and leave here in peace.” “He ain’t innercent,” cried the cowboy. “He done fer Jake Phelps, an’ us fellers aire here ter git him if we have ter burn the house.” “Not Nate Dunbar but Red Steve is the man you want.” “We know who we want, an’ we ain’t goin’ ter waste much more time gittin’ him, nuther.” “What’s your name?” queried the scout, suddenly changing his tactics. These men were not in a mood to listen to reason. Impatient yells had come from all around the cabin, demanding that the spokesman stop his talking and do something. “Prouther,” said the cowboy. “For whatever happens here, Prouther,” threatened the scout, “I shall hold you and those with you responsible. You’ll not take Nate Dunbar away from us. If you try it, there’ll be shooting; and you men out here will be better targets than those of us who are in the house.” Two of the other cowboys had dismounted and come to Prouther’s side. “What good’s all this chinnin’?” growled one. “He come out ter talk, Klinger,” answered Prouther, “an’ I reckoned we might as well listen.” “While we’re listenin’,” said the third cowboy, “mebby them in the cabin aire doin’ somethin’. Pass it up an’ let’s git busy.” “What’s yer answer?” demanded Prouther, facing the scout truculently. “Before I give you my answer,” said Buffalo Bill, “let me tell you this: There’s law on the Brazos still, if not State law then national law. I represent the government. My name is Cody, and I’m on detached service. I reckon you men know me.” His face hardened and his lithe, muscular form straightened to its full height. “Whenever I lay hold of a proposition I generally make good. I tell you, Nate Dunbar had nothing to do with the injury from which Jake Phelps is lying unconscious at the H-P ranch. He----” “Bosh!” howled Klinger. “Didn’t him an’ Jake git ter loggerheads in Hackamore? Didn’t you order Jake out o’ town? An’ didn’t Dunbar foller him? What did he foller him fer if it wasn’t ter do him up?” “Nate didn’t follow Jake Phelps, but came straight to the Star-A by the most direct trail. Suppose he did follow him. If Nate wanted to do Phelps up, as you say, then why didn’t he use his revolver instead of a club? What was Phelps doing with his own revolver while Dunbar was riding up behind him and hitting him with a club? Can’t you men use a little reason?” But the would-be lynchers had no reason. They were blindly determined to take the law in their own hands. “We know Dunbar done it!” Prouther whooped. “Will ye trot him out here, or hev we got ter come in arter him?”