Jimmy stirred and looked around, his eyes losing their look of vacancy and slowly filling with murderous hatred as he saw the man above him and remembered what had occurred. "Sand _sounds_ like powder, my youthful friend," the Boss was saying, "but it don’t _work_ like powder. I purty near swallowed yore gal story; but I sorta reckoned mebby I better make shore about you. Yo ’re clever, Jimmy; so clever that I dass n’t take no chances with you. I ’ll just tie you up till th’ boys come back—we both know what they ’ll say. I ’d ’a’ done it then only I like you; an’ I wish you had been in earnest about joinin’ us. Now get up." Jimmy arose slowly and cautiously and then moved like a flash, only to look down the barrel of a Colt. His clenched hands fell to his side and he bowed his head; but the Boss was too wary to be caught by any pretenses of a broken spirit. "Turn ’round an’ hol’ up yore han’s," he ordered. "I ’ll blow you apart if you even squirms." Jimmy obeyed, seething with impotent fury, but the steady pressure of the Colt on his back told him how useless it was to resist. Life was good, even a few hours of it, for in those few hours perhaps a chance would come to him. The rope that had hung on the wall passed over his wrists and in a few moments he was helpless. "Now sit down," came the order and the prisoner obeyed sullenly. The Boss went in the bunkhouse and soon returned, picked up the captive and, carrying him to the bunk prepared for him, dumped him in it, tied a few more knots and, closing the door, securely propped it shut and strode toward his own quarters, swearing savagely under his breath. An hour later, while a string of horsemen rode along the crooked, low-lying trail across the Tortilla, plain in the moonlight, a figure at the bunkhouse turned the corner, slipped to the door and carefully removed the props. Waiting a moment it opened the door slowly and slipped into the black interior, and chuckled at the sarcastic challenge from the bunk. "Sneakin’ back again, hey?" blazed Jimmy, trying in vain to bridge on his head and heels and turn over to face the intruder. "Turn me loose an’ gimme a gun—I oughta have a chance!" "All right," said a quiet, strange voice. "That’s what I’m here for; but don’t talk so loud." "Who ’re you?" "My name ’s Cassidy. I ’m from th’ Bar-20, what owns them cows you been abusin’. Huh! he shore tied some knots! Wasn’t takin’ no more chances with you, all right!" "G’wan! He never did take none." "So I ’ve observed. Get th’ blood circulatin’ an’ I ’ll give you some war-medicine for that useless gun of yourn what ain’t sand." "Good for you! I’ll sidle up agin’ that shack an’ fill him so full of lead he won’t know what hit him!" "Well, every man does things in his own way; but I ’ve been thinkin’ he oughta have a chance. He shore gave you some. Take it all in all, he ’s been purty white to you, Kid. Longhorn ’d ’a’ shot you quick tonight."