Their eyes met silently. Dave Tutt was a man whom Wild Bill Hickok killed in a street duel on the public square of Springfield, Missouri, in the presence of his friends, all of whom had threatened to kill Hickok on sight. “Well, those people couldn’t seem to make a living any way except by robbing folks,” said the border man after a while. “The real brains of that outfit was a fellow called Rudabaugh—Sim Rudabaogh. I heard that he went South; to Austin, I think.” “Yes, he got some sort of Northern political pull back of him I don’t just know how. He has given us a fine example of organized Reconstruction politics. He has put on foot the biggest plan of wholesale cow stealing and land stealing and general highway robbery that ever was started even in Texas.” “Using his old trade, eh? Working large?” “Yes. Just now he’s getting hold of all the land scrip the state ever issued—you know Texas retained her own lands when she came in. His plan is to get hold of about all of Texas north of the Buffalo gap, and then to steal cows enough east of that to stock the whole Staked Plains.” “That sounds like a pretty large order!” smiled Hickok. “It is a large order. The man is crazy who would ever think of it. I don’t doubt that Sim Rudabaugh is crazy—crazy with his own egotism and his success in deeds that no sane man ever could have thought of doing.” “Have you got any personal quarrel?” asked Hickok of him quietly. “That word doesn’t cover it, sir! Mr. Hickok, I have said that Rudabaugh killed my father and Colonel Lockhart. That is, I am practically sure of it. My father was sheriff of Gonzales before they put me in. I could not refuse. I knew I was elected to end the Rudabaugh gang. “Quarrel? I can’t call it by so small a name. For every reason in the world I have got to have that man dead or alive. And you’ll think I am crazy myself,” he added, “when I tell you I want him alive. He is worth much more to Texas alive than dead. The fact is, the whole peace of Texas—and the whole end of the big steal in Texas—depends on my bringing that man in, not dead but alive.” Hickok looked at him in silence for a time. “You have had to shoot sometimes.” “Several times. I have made a good many arrests as sheriff in my county and as a captain in the Rangers in other counties.” Hickok shook his head. A light drinker, he pushed his glass aside not much more than tasted. “No good in making arrests. There is only one way with a man like that—let him make his break.” McMasters went on to explain the circumstances of Colonel Griswold’s talk with Yellow Hand, below the Washita, giving the details of the fight.