The sheriff's face actually brightened. “Thanks for that, major. I was gettin' a little sick of my share in this job, but, by God, you've put some sand in me. Well, then! there ain't gold enough in all Californy to make me let you go. You hear me; so drop that. I've TOOK you, and TOOK ye'll remain until I land you in Sacramento jail. I don't want to kill you, though your life's forfeit a dozen times over, and I reckon you don't care for it either way, but if you try any tricks on me I may have to MAIM ye to make you come along comf'able and easy. I ain't hankerin' arter THAT either, but come you shall!” “Give your signal and have an end of this,” said the major curtly. The sheriff looked at him again curiously. “I never had my hands in another man's pockets before, major, but I reckon I'll have to take your derringers from yours.” He slipped his hand into the major's waistcoat and secured the weapons. “I'll have to trouble you for your sash, too,” he said, unwinding the knitted silken girdle from the captive's waist. “You won't want it, for you ain't walking, and it'll come in handy to me just now.” He bent over, and, passing it across the major's breast with more gentleness and solicitude than he had yet shown, secured him in an easy sitting posture against the tree. Then, after carefully trying the knots and straps that held his prisoner, he turned and lightly bounded up the hill. He was absent scarcely ten minutes, yet when he returned the major's eyes were half closed. But not his lips. “If you expect to hold me until your posse comes you had better take me to some less exposed position,” he said dryly. “There's a man just crossed the gully, coming into the brush below in the wood.” “None of your tricks, major!” “Look for yourself.” The sheriff glanced quickly below him. A man with an axe on his shoulder could be seen plainly making his way through the underbrush not a hundred yards away. The sheriff instantly clapped his hand upon his captive's mouth, but at a look from his eyes took it away again. “I see,” he said grimly, “you don't want to lure that man within reach of my revolver by calling to him.” “I could have called him while you were away,” returned the major quietly. The sheriff with a darkened face loosened the sash that bound his prisoner to the tree, and then, lifting him in his arms, began to ascend the hill cautiously, dipping into the heavier shadows. But the ascent was difficult, the load a heavy one, and the sheriff was agile rather than muscular. After a few minutes' climbing he was forced to pause and rest his burden at the foot of a tree. But the valley and the man in the underbrush were no longer in view. “Come,” said the major quietly, “unstrap my ankles and I'll WALK up. We'll never get there at this rate.” The sheriff paused, wiped his grimy face with his grimier blouse, and stood looking at his prisoner. Then he said slowly:-- “Look yer! Wot's your little game? Blessed if I kin follow suit.”