It was the late fugitive. Although some hours had already elapsed since his arrival in camp, and he had presumably refreshed himself inwardly, his outward appearance was still disheveled and dusty. Brier and milkweed clung to his frayed blouse and trousers. What could be seen of the skin of his face and hands under its stains and begriming was of a dull yellow. His light eyes had all the brightness without the restlessness of the mongrel race. They leisurely took in the whole cabin, the still open trunk before the major, and then rested deliberately on the major himself. “Well,” said Major Overstone abruptly, “what brought you here?” “Same as brought you, I reckon,” responded the man almost as abruptly. The major knew something of the half-breed temper, and neither the retort nor its tone affected him. “You didn't come here just because you deserted,” said the major coolly. “You've been up to something else.” “I have,” said the man with equal coolness. “I thought so. Now, you understand you can't try anything of that kind HERE. If you do, up you go on the first tree. That's Rule 1.” “I see you ain't pertickler about waiting for the sheriff here, you fellers.” The major glanced at him quickly. He seemed to be quite unconscious of any irony in his remark, and continued grimly, “And what's Rule 2?” “I reckon you needn't trouble yourself beyond No. 1,” returned the major with dry significance. Nevertheless, he opened a rude cupboard in the corner and brought out a rich silver-mounted cut-glass drinking-flask, which he handed to the stranger. “I say,” said the half-breed, admiringly, “yours?” “Certainly.” “Certainly NOW, but BEFORE, eh?” Rule No. 2 may have indicated that references to the past held no dishonor. The major, although accustomed to these pleasantries, laughed a little harshly. “Mine always,” he said. “But you don't drink?” The half-breed's face darkened under its grime. “Wot you're givin' us? I've been filled chock up by Simpson over thar. I reckon I know when I've got a load on.” “Were you ever in Sacramento?” “Yes.” “When?” “Last week.” “Did you hear anything about me?” The half-breed glanced through his tangled hair at the major in some wonder, not only at the question, but at the almost childish eagerness with which it was asked. “I didn't hear much of anything else,” he answered grimly. “And--what did they SAY?” “Said you'd got to be TOOK anyhow! They allowed the new sheriff would do it too.” The major laughed. “Well, you heard HOW the new sheriff did it--skunked away with his whole posse before one-eighth of my men! You saw how the rest of this camp held up your nine troopers, and that sap-headed cub of a lieutenant--didn't you? You wouldn't have been standing here if you hadn't. No; there isn't the civil process nor the civil power in all California that can take me out of this camp.”