Morse leaned forward and caught hold of it. "I'll take this," he said. The brown fingers relaxed. "Skirt round the edge of the rock there. Lie face down in that hollow. Got a six-shooter." He had. Morse took it from him. "If you move or speak one word, I'll pump lead into you," the Montanan cautioned. The half-breed looked into his chill eyes and decided to take no chances. He lay down on his face with hands stretched out exactly as ordered. His captor returned to the shoulder of rock above the trail. Presently another head projected itself out of the darkness. A man crept up, and like the first stopped to take stock of his surroundings. Against the back of his neck something cold pressed. "Stick up your hands, Barney," a voice ordered. The little man let out a yelp. "Mother o' Moses, don't shoot." "How many more of you?" asked Morse sharply. "One more." The man behind the rifle collected his weapons and put Barney alongside his companion. Within five minutes he had added a third man to the collection. With a sardonic grin he drove them before him to Beresford. "I'm a prisoner an' not in this show, you was careful to explain to me, Mr. Constable, but I busted the rules an' regulations to collect a few specimens of my own," he drawled by way of explanation. Beresford's eyes gleamed. The debonair impudence of the procedure appealed mightily to him. He did not know how this young fellow had done it, but he must have acted with cool nerve and superb daring. "Where were they? And how did you get 'em without a six-shooter?" "They was driftin' up the pass to say 'How-d'you-do?' from the back stairway. I borrowed a gun from one o' them. I asked 'em to come along with me and they reckoned they would." The booming of a rifle echoed in the rocks to the left. From out of them Jessie McRae came flying, something akin to terror in her face. "I've shot that West. He tried to run in on me and--and--I shot him." Her voice broke into an hysterical sob. "Thought I told you to keep out of this," the constable said. "I seem to have a lot of valuable volunteer help. What with you and friend Morse here--" He broke off, touched at her distress. "Never mind about that, Miss McRae. He had it coming to him. I'll go out and size up the damage to him, if his friends have had enough--and chances are they have." They had. Gosse advanced waving a red bandanna handkerchief as a flag of truce. "We got a plenty," he said frankly. "West's down, an' another of the boys got winged. No use us goin' on with this darned foolishness. We're ready to call it off if you'll turn Morse loose." Beresford had walked out to meet him. He answered, curtly. "No." The long, lank whiskey-runner rubbed his chin bristles awkwardly. "We 'lowed maybe--" "I keep my prisoners, both Morse and Barney." "Barney!" repeated Gosse, surprised.