“We’re waiting for _you_,” said a tall Ten Miler, who had been a pleased witness of the knife-throwing and its results. “Well, you need not,” retorted Mr. Watson, as he made a fling at Yankee’s other eye, and with very good success. “You know my sentiments, gentlemen. I was opposed to bringing the prisoner here. We might have fixed up the matter all at one time, and saved a heap of diggin’.” “It—might—have—done,” said the tall Miler, doubtfully; “but I wouldn’t like to see the two together. It would spoil all my enjoyment of the occasion.” “Bet yer ten to one ye don’t swing him!” cried Watson, springing to his feet with sudden inspiration, and mounting the bench he had been whittling. “Twenty to one Jack Borlan don’t choke this heat! Who takes me? who? who?” No one seemed disposed to take him. “Bosh! you Ten Milers are all babies. Now, if this had happened up at Quit Claim, Borlan would have had a beautiful tombstone over him long ago. What do _you_ say, Borlan?” The prisoner, thus addressed, cut short some remark he was making, and turned to Watson. “There have been cases where the prisoner had the benefit of a trial, Mr. Watson.” “Which is so, Mr. Borlan. Obliged to you fur reminding me. Let’s have one, gentlemen. I’ll be prosecuting attorney, if no one objects; now, who’ll defend the prisoner at the bar?” “I’ll make a feeble attempt that way,” was the reply that came from the doorway. All eyes turned, and recognized Tom Ruger. “This is betwixt us Ten Milers,” said Watson. “Borlan is guilty, and we’re bound to hang him before sundown; but we want to do the fair thing, and give him the benefit of a trial. Who of you Ten Milers will defend him?” “I told you _I_ would defend Mr. Borlan,” said Tom Ruger, as he removed his silk hat and wiped his broad forehead with the finest of silk handkerchiefs. “I tell you we won’t have any outsiders in this game,” said Watson. “I really dislike to contradict you, Mr. Watson,” remarked Tom Ruger, as he very carefully readjusted his hat. “Very sorry, Mr. Watson, and I do hope you’ll pardon me when I repeat that I will defend Mr. Borlan—_with—my—life_!” This remark surprised no one more than Jack Borlan. He had never spoken to Mr. Ruger a dozen times in his life, and he could not account for such disinterestedness. However, there was not much time for conjecture, for Mr. Watson had taken offense. “With your death, Tom Ruger, if you interfere!” cried Watson, jumping down from his elevation. It did look that way; but Mr. Ruger had not strolled up and down that auriferous coast without acquiring some knowledge of the usual means of defense in that sunny clime, as well as some practice. It was quite warm for a moment; then Mr. Borlan, believing it to be his duty, as client, to aid his counsel in the defense, went in gladly. Still it was quite warm; also somewhat smoky from the powder that had been burned; likewise noisy. Not so noisy, however, that Mr. Borlan could not hear his counsel say: