“That’s so!” a fourth agreed. “No harm done. But we had a close shave, didn’t we?” And he grinned too. Lem Speed approached me. “No hard feelings,” he said jocularly, and he held out his hand. But is it a true joke--this American attempt at shirking responsibility under a bluff of facetiousness? It masquerades as humor every day--a pretty mongrel humor, more like true cowardice. I turned to Scipio. “Tell this man that anything he wishes to say to me he will say through you.” Speed flushed darkly. Had he kept his temper, he could easily have turned my speech to ridicule. But such a manner of meeting him was novel to a man used to having his own brutal way wherever he went, and he was disconcerted. He spoke loudly and with bluster:-- “You said some things about my wife and son that don’t go now.” This delivered him into my hands. Again I addressed Scipio. “Say that I wish his family no further misfortune; they have enough in having him for husband and father.” I think he would have shot me, but the others were now laughing. “He’s called the turn on you, Lem. Leave him be. He’s been annoyed some this morning.” They now made ready to depart with their recovered property. “You and your friend will come along with us?” one said to Scipio. “Thank you,” I answered. “I have seen all that I ever wish to see of any of you.” And then suddenly I folded over and slid like a sack of flour from my horse. It had lasted longer than my nerves were good for; darkness engulfed me on the ground. They had disappeared when I waked; Scipio and I were the only human tenants of the valley. He sat watching me, and I nodded to him; then silently shook my head at his question if I wanted anything. I lay gazing at the rocks and trees, the tall trees with their leaves gently stirring. It was a beautiful, serene spot and I regarded it with the languid pleasure of a man recovering from a serious illness. We began to talk presently, and I learned that they had taken away their stolen horses, except the sorrel, which had been left at my complete disposal. But from that party I would accept no amends; I would ride the sorrel back to Wind River, and then I would send a check to the proper person, as if I had hired the horse. This intention I may say at once that I duly carried out. Scipio upbraided me with the spirit I was showing; they had meant no harm to _me_, he argued; they were doing their best now--but I turned upon him. “Oh, their best! Do you think they’ll not break out in a new place, condemn some other man who looks guilty to their almighty minds? I asked to see the post-trader. Don’t forget that. There’s got to be lynching where there’s no law, but--” To these unfinished words Scipio could find no answer, but he remained unconvinced, muttering that “tenderfeet shouldn’t monkey with this country by themselves;” and in this sentiment I heartily concurred.