"You'll stand for it, my friend. I gave you a chance to clear out and you wouldn't take it." "I wouldn't because I couldn't. Don't make any mistake about this. I'm not looking for Luck. I'm attending to my business. Arrest _him_ if you want to stop trouble." There came a knock on the door. It opened to admit Luck Cullison. He shut it and put his back to it, while his eyes, hard as hammered iron, swept past the officer to fix on Fendrick. The latter rose quickly from the bed, but O'Connor flung him back. "Don't forget you're my prisoner." "He's your prisoner, is he?" This was a turn of affairs for which Luck was manifestly unprepared: "Well, I've come to have a little settlement with him." Fendrick, tense as a coiled spring, watched him warily. "Can't be any too soon to suit me." Clear cut as a pair of scissors through paper, Bucky snapped out his warning. "Nothing stirring, gentlemen. I'll shoot the first man that makes a move." "Are you in this, Bucky?" asked Cullison evenly. "You're right I am. He's my prisoner." "What for?" "For robbing the W. & S." Luck's face lit. "Have you evidence enough to cinch him?" "Not enough yet. But I'll take no chances on his getting away." The cattleman's countenance reflected his thoughts as his decision hung in the balance. He longed to pay his debt on the spot. But on the other hand he had been a sheriff himself. As an outsider he had no right to interfere between an officer and his captive. Besides, if there was a chance to send Fendrick over the road that would be better than killing. It would clear up his own reputation, to some extent under a cloud. "All right, Bucky. If the law wants him I'll step aside for the time." The sheepman laughed in his ironic fashion. His amusement mocked them both. "Most as good as a play of the movies, ain't it? But we'd ought all to have our guns out to make it realistic." But in his heart he did not jeer. For the situation had been nearer red tragedy than melodrama. The resource and firmness of Bucky O'Connor had alone made it possible to shave disaster by a hair's breadth and no more. CHAPTER XIII A CONVERSATION Bucky O'Connor and his prisoner swung down the street side by side and turned in at the headquarters of the rangers. The officer switched on the light, shut the door, and indicated a chair. From his desk he drew a box of cigars. He struck a match and held it for the sheepman before using it himself. Relaxed in his chair, Fendrick spoke with rather elaborate indolence. "What's your evidence, Bucky? You can't hold me without any. What have you got that ties me to the W. & S. robbery?" "Why, that hat play, Cass? You let on you had shot Cullison's hat off his head while he was making his getaway. Come to find out you had his hat in your possession all the time." "Does that prove I did it myself?" "Looks funny you happened to be right there while the robbery was taking place and that you had Luck's hat with you."