“I’ve told you once I didn’t, and you wouldn’t believe me. We’ll let it go at that. Now get those skis.” The snowshoes were rescued and the broken one mended. Hollister watched his prisoner every minute of the time. He did not intend to run the risk of being hit in the head by a bit of broken rock. The two moved down into the valley, Cig breaking trail. He made excuses that he was dead tired and couldn’t go another step. They did not serve him well. His captor would not let the crook get in his rear for a single second. He knew that, if the fellow got a chance, he would murder him without the least hesitation. In a blinding snowstorm the two men reached camp. Twice Cig had tried to bolt and twice had been caught and punished. This was a degrading business, but the engineer had no choice. It was necessary to bring the man in because he had been up to some deviltry, and Hollister could not let him go without first finding out what it was. He took him into his own tent and put him through a searching quiz. The result of it was precisely nothing. Cig jeered at him defiantly. If he could prove anything against him, let him go to it. That was the substance of the New Yorker’s answers. “All right. I’ll turn you over to Clint Reed. He’s got something to say to you for stealing his little girl. From the way he talked, I judge you’re in for a bad time of it.” Cig protested. He hadn’t stolen the girl. How did they know he had? Who said so? What would he do a crazy thing like that for? To all of which Hollister said calmly that he would have to explain that to Reed. If he could satisfy the cattleman, it would be all right with him. Reed could pass him on to Sheriff Daniels without further delay. “You’re a heluva pardner, ain’t youse?” sneered the crook with an ugly lift of his upper lip. “T’row me down foist chance youse get.” “I’m not your partner. We hit different trails the day we left the Diamond Bar K ranch. You needn’t play baby on me. That won’t buy you anything.” “Gonna turn me over to Reed, then, are youse?” “I’ve no time to bother with you. He’ll know how to handle the case. Better that way, I reckon.” Cig said nothing. For half an hour there was silence in the tent. Hollister knew that his threat was sinking in, that the kidnapper was uneasily examining the situation to find the best way out. Daylight came, and with it signs of activity around the camp. Smoke poured out of the stovepipe projecting from the chuck tent. Men’s voices sounded. At last the beating of an iron on the triangle summoned them to breakfast. “We’ll eat before we start,” Hollister said. “Don’ want nothin’ to eat,” growled the prisoner. “Different here. I do. You’ll come along, anyhow.” The men at breakfast looked with surprise at the guest of the boss when he appeared. Hollister explained what he was doing there.