“You will never hurt me any more.” Another voice then added: “He is not going to hurt any of us any more.” “Stay still!” sharply reiterated Lem Speed, for at the second voice I had half risen. “For whom do you take me?” I asked. “For one of the people we want.” I continued to be amused. “I’ll be glad to know what you want me for. I’ll be glad to know what damage I’ve done. I’ll be happy to make it good. I came over here last night for--” “Go on. What did you come for?” “Nothing. Simply to see this place. I’ve wanted to see it for a year. I wanted to see if I could find it by myself.” And I told them who I was and where I lived. “That’s a good one, ain’t it?” said a third man to Lem Speed. “And so,” said he, “you, claiming you’re an Eastern tenderfoot, found this place, first trip, all by yourself across fifty miles of country old-timers get lost in?” “No. Washakie gave me a map.” “Let’s see your map.” “I lighted my fire with it.” Somebody laughed. There were now five or six of them standing round me. “If some of you gentlemen will condescend to tell me what you think my name is, and what you think I have done--” “We don’t know what your name is, and we don’t care. As to what you’ve done, that’s as well known to you as it is to us, and you’ve got gall to ask, when we’ve caught you right on the spot, branding-irons and all.” “Well, I’m beginning to understand. You think you’ve caught a cattle thief.” “Horse thief,” corrected one. “Both, probably,” added another. “I’ll not ask you to believe me any more,” I now said. “Don’t I see the post-trader over there among those horses?” “No.” “Very well, take me to him at Washakie. He has known me for years. I demand it.” “We’ll not take you anywhere. We’re going to leave you here.” And now the truth, the appalling, incredible truth, which my brain had totally failed to take in, burst like a blast of heat or ice over my whole being, penetrating the innermost recesses of my soul with a blinding glare. They intended to put me to death at once; their minds were as stone vaults closed against all explanation. Here in this hidden crack of the wilderness my body would be left hanging, and far away my family and friends would never know by what hideous outrage I had perished. Slowly they would become anxious at getting no news of me; there would be an inquiry, a mystery, then sorrow, and finally acceptance of my unknown fate. Broken visions of home, incongruous minglings of loved faces and commonplace objects, like my room with its table and chairs, rushed upon me. Had I not been seated, I must have fallen at the first shock of this stroke. They stood watching me. “But,” I began, feeling that my very appearance was telling against me, while my own voice sounded guilty to my ears, “but it’s not true.” “What’s the use in him talking any more to us?” said a man to Lem Speed.