"Shust so, Kelly. That is my obinion myself." "Consequently it follows, sergeant, if you don't see to the contrary, that until we know that to be a fact, it would be uncalled for to shoot Smith." "What you zay, Kelly, is shust what I zay." "Furthermore, however, sergeant, it might be right and is the way of duty, to call up Smith and make him testify as to what he knows of this business, whether it be murder, or meant for murder." "Cock your beece, Kelly." Both men cocked their pieces. "Now I will gall Schmidt out and question him," continued Meyer, "You will stand on one side and pe ready to opey my orders." "Very good, sergeant," said Kelly, and dropped back a little into the nearly complete darkness. Meyer sang out sharply, "Schmidt! Texas Schmidt!" The desperado heard the summons, hesitated a moment, cocked the revolver in his belt, loosened his knife in its sheath, rose from his blanket, and walked slowly in the direction of the voice. Passing Kelly without seeing him, he confronted Meyer, his hand on his pistol. There was not the slightest tremor in the hoarse, low croak with which he asked, "What's the game, sergeant?" "Schmidt, stand berfectly still," said Meyer in his softest fluting. "Kelly has his beece aimed at your head. If you stir hant or foot, you are a kawn koose." CHAPTER XXXII. Texas Smith was too old a borderer to attempt to draw his weapons while such a man as Kelly was sighting him at ten feet distance. "Play yer hand, sergeant," he said; "you've got the keerds." "You know, Schmidt, that our leftenant has been garried down the river," continued Meyer. The bushwhacker responded with a grunt which expressed neither pleasure nor sorrow, but merely assent. "You know," went on the sergeant, "that such things cannot habben to officers without investigations." "He war a squar man, an' a white man," said Texas. "I didn't have nothin' to do with cuttin' him loose, if he war cut loose." "You didn't saw the lariat yourself, Schmidt, I know that. But do you know who did saw it?" "I dunno the first thing about it." "Bray to pe struck tead if you do." "I dunno how to pray." "Then holt up your hants and gurse yourself to hell if you do." Lifting his hands over his head, the ignorant savage blasphemed copiously. "Do you think you can guess how it was pusted?" persisted the soldier. "Look a hyer!" remonstrated Smith, "ain't you pannin' me out a leetle too fine? It mought 'a' been this way, an' it mought 'a' been that. But I've no business to point if I can't find. When a man's got to the bottom of his pile, you can't fo'ce him to borrow. 'Sposin' I set you barkin' up the wrong tree; what good's that gwine to do?" "Vell, Schmidt, I don't zay but what you zay right. You mustn't zay anyting you don't know someting apout."