"We will give you a thousand dollars for six, our own pick." The owner started to protest. "And here's your money," continued Jesse, without giving the fellow an opportunity to object. "Not a cent more. You've had one experience today and you'd better take the offer." The rancher looked from one to the other of the stern faces about him. "And besides we have saved your life, eh?" "I'll take it," was the terse reply, as he reached for the roll of bills that the desperado extended in his open palm. "What about the pup over there?" "Got a gun?" asked Jesse. "They took 'em away from me." "Here's mine. Use it if you want to," replied the outlaw carelessly. "You, you mean--" "Oh hurry up, or give me back the gun," retorted Jesse. "You ain't goin' ter kill me be yer?" begged the miserable captive. The rancher was fingering the gun at his side with convulsive fingers, his face growing more malignant with deadly hate from moment to moment. "Bang!" Sagebrush Sam wavered and plunged forward on his face, dead. "Good job," commented the desperado. The rancher had fired the fatal shot without so much as raising the revolver from his hip. "You ain't no slouch on the trigger," commended the bandit chieftain. "There are two more fellows over there who haven't had enough medicine yet. I observe they are trying to crawl away now. Wait, don't shoot. Bill, straighten them up. Can they stand?" "I reckon they can," grinned Wild Bill. Jesse strode over to them and handed each a keen-edged bowie. "Fight," he commanded tersely. The horror of it sent a shiver down the spine of every man in the room. The men were friends, and the hands bearing the knives settled slowly to their sides as they looked into each other's eyes. Two guns in the notorious outlaw's hands barked viciously at the same instant and each of the unwilling combatants lost a portion of one ear. "By Judas that was a shot," exulted the rancher. "Mine ain't in it with that. Fight, you measly spalpeens!" he roared and Jesse smiled as he noted that the blood lust had taken supreme possession of the man. "Yes, fight," added Jesse, notching the ends of the arses of both men with another of his wonderful shots as if to emphasize his command. In blind despair the unhappy wretches raised their knives and with tightly closed eyes struck blindly out into the air. "Close in," commanded Jesse sternly, sending a bullet ploughing through the upper lip of either man. And now in blind consuming rage the victims began to strike. Their eyes were wide and in the desperateness of the moment, friendship turned to un-dying hate. Each proved an expert with the knife. Their blades flashed in the sunlight whose rays slanted down through window and door. It was thrust and parry as they leaped from side to side, forgetful of the wounds that the bandits had inflicted on them in the earlier battle. Now and then a bowie would come away stained half way to its hilt. Not a word was spoken.