“Don’t be skeered, though his run has been known as the Death Trail, fer on it Silk Lasso Sam and his men have been hanging out for deviltry, though that game won’t be played no more. Not knowin’ your name, miss, I can’t interdooce you ter Horeshoe Ned, only him ter you.” “My name is----” and after a short hesitation she added the name: “Ruth Arden, Mr. Baldy.” Having learned the name, Baldy was not going to leave the introduction half done, so said quickly: “Miss Ruth Arden, Horseshoe Ned, and if you don’t treat her first-class yer quarrels with me.” “I am sure that he will do all in his power, Mr. Baldy, to make my ride as pleasant a one as it has been with you.” And Horseshoe Ned did, for he showed how he could drive, gathered wild flowers here and there for his fair passenger, told her the legends of the trails, and showed her the scenes of Silk Lasso Sam’s red exploits, and graves which he had been the one to dot the roadside with. “I tell yer, miss, thet Silk Lasso Sam is a terror, and I has seen him do killin’ more times than I cares to remember. It hain’t been so very long since he kilt my Pard Ribbons, and he has nipped me slight several times; but that is his business and drivin’ is mine, and it’s every man to his occupation, and I must say Silk Lasso Sam stood above ’em all in what he undertook.” “And he is now a prisoner at the fort, sir?” “Yes, miss. He’s soon ter be hanged, they says, though I won’t believe it until I sees it.” “Why, do you think he’ll receive a pardon?” “A pardon, miss? Silk Lasso Sam receive a pardon? No, indeed, miss, never from God or man!” was the vehement response. “He has been so very wicked, then?” “He has had nothing but wickedness in his heart, miss. Nobody has been able to escape him, men, women or children, for he is merciless to all, and but for Buffalo Bill, Surgeon Powell and a miner named Deadshot Dean, he’d hev gone on his wicked ways and done no end of harm.” “I am sorry to hear that he was a man of whom nothing good could be said, for it is seldom you find a man who has fallen so low as that,” sadly said the passenger. “He brought it on himself, miss.” “Yes, I can believe that; but why is it that you do not believe that he will be hanged?” “Well, miss, he has been in so many tight places, and always gives his foes the slip in some way, that I has begun to think he hain’t born ter be hanged.” “One cannot live an evil life and never expect just punishment in the end, sir.” “Just punishment for him, miss, would be, to my thinking, solitary confinement in a cell where he’d hev ther chance ter be alone with his conscience and feel all ther deeds he has been guilty of, for shootin’ would be too good fer him, and hangin’ would soon be over with. But there’s the fort, miss, and we’ll soon be there. Has you friends there, miss?”