He offered her the sandwich and on her refusal bit into it: "No," he returned simply, "for I'm not a deputy marshal." Kate was stunned: "Why, you said you were! What do you mean?" she demanded when she could speak. He ate so deliberately! She thought he never would finish his mouthful and answer: "I mean--not regularly. Once or twice I've been deputized to serve papers--when the job went begging. Farrell Kennedy, the marshal at Medicine Bend, is a friend of mine--that's the nearest I come to working for him." "But if you're not a deputy marshal, what are you?" demanded Kate, uneasily. His face reflected the suspicion of a smile: "I guess the answer to that would depend a good deal on who told the story." "I could hardly imagine anyone chasing you," she continued, not knowing in her confusion what to say. "You ought to see me run sometime," he returned. "Oh, there's a prairie dog!" she exclaimed. She was looking to the farther side of the water hole. "See? Over there by that bush! I wonder if I could hit it?" She put her hand to her scabbard: "I've lost my revolver!" She looked at him blankly. "Had it when you started, didn't you?" inquired her companion, undisturbed. Her hand rested on the empty scabbard in dismay: "I must have lost it on the way." He plunged his left hand into a capacious side pocket and drew out her revolver. But instead of handing it to her he began to examine it as if he might return it or might not. She was on pins in an instant. Now she _was_ at his mercy. "Is that mine?" she asked, frightened. "It is." "Where did you get it?" she demanded. Was she to get it back? He made no move to let her know; just fingered the toy curiously. "Where you dropped it--before you made your leap for life." And looking up at her, he added: "We ought to've eaten our sandwiches first and drank afterward." "I don't understand--what did I do?" Kate knew her voice quivered a bit though she was bound she would not show fear. "And while we are talking"--she pointed--"the prairie dog is gone." "He'll be back," predicted her companion with slow confidence. "The gun bounced from your scabbard when you were running your horse along the bench. So I picked it up for you." He presented it on the palm of his hand. "How odd!" she exclaimed, trying to take it without appearing in a hurry. "How stupid of me!" She knew her face, in spite of herself, flushed under his gaze. "You were going a pretty good clip," he continued. "But a man would never do such a thing as to drop a revolver--you never would." "It might be a whole lot worse for me to do it than it would for you--though if I carried a nice little gun like that it maybe wouldn't make so very much difference. There's your prairie dog again," he added, looking across the hole.