"Yo're believin' Block, an' he's the biggest liar in Fort Creek County, an' that's sayin' quite it lot, seein' as how the 88 outfit belongs in Fort Creek. Now I never branded no 88 cows. The 88, because they knowed I knowed they'd been brandin' other folks' cattle, went an' branded a cow an' a calf o' their own with the Crossed Dumbbell an' then tried to throw the blame on me. But the trick didn't pan out. They couldn't prove it nohow. Jack Richie o' the Cross-in-a-box can tell yuh I didn't rustle them cattle." "I thought yuh was workin' for the Bar S," put in the marshal. "I was, but I quit." "Then why wouldn't Saltoun o' the Bar S know all about it? What did yuh say Jack Richie for?" The marshal drooped a wise eyelid. He considered himself a most astute cross-examiner. "I said Jack Richie because he was there at the Bar S when Marvin an' Rudd drove in the cow an' the calf. It was him proved I couldn't 'a' branded them cattle like they said I did." "Why wouldn't Saltoun o' the Bar S speak for yuh?" inquired the marshal. "He would, I guess," replied Loudon. "Old Salt an' me don't just hitch, but he's square. He'd tell yuh about it." "He won't tell me. The Bar S an' the Cross-in-a-box are more'n two hundred miles south. I ain't ridin' that far to get yore pedigree. No, yuh can just bet I ain't. This gent here, Sheriff Block, will take yuh south. If it's like yuh say it is, then yuh needn't worry none. Yuh'll have yore witnesses an' all right there." "Don't yuh understand? I'll never see none o' my friends. The 88 outfit will lynch me soon as ever I hit Farewell. I tell yuh I know too much about 'em. They want me out o' the way." Before the marshal could reply there was a bustle in the crowd, and a high-pitched feminine voice inquired what evil was being visited upon Mr. Loudon. An instant later Mrs. Burr, barearmed and perspiring, unceremoniously pushed Block to one side and confronted the marshal. "What yuh doin' to him?" she demanded, with a quick jerk of her head toward Loudon. "Why, Mis' Burr, ma'am," replied the marshal, "he's a hoss thief, an' he's goin' south to Farewell." "He ain't goin' to Farewell," retorted Mrs. Burr, "an' he ain't a hoss thief. Who says so?" "I do, ma'am," said Block, stepping forward. "He's a hoss thief, an'----" "Hoss thief yoreself!" snapped Mrs. Burr, wheeling on Block so fiercely that the sheriff gave ground involuntarily. "The more I look at yuh the more yuh look like a hoss thief an' a rustler an' a road agent. You shut up, Dan Smith! I always guessed yuh was an idjit, an' now I know it! This man, Mr. Tom Loudon, is a friend o' my husband's. I know him well, an' if yuh think yo're goin' to string him up for a hoss thief yo're mistaken." "But, ma'am," explained the unhappy marshal, "we ain't a-goin' to string him up. This gent, Sheriff Block, is takin' him south. He'll get justice down there, Mis' Burr."