"No, not unless we can strike a bargain. You talk about right and justice. Now let's see a little of it," answered Larkin. "All right, young feller, you've said your say. Now listen to me. I'm a deputy sheriff in this county"--he ripped open his vest and showed the badge pinned to the inside lining--"an' I hereby arrest yuh for bein' a party to them rustlers. Yer either a criminal or yuh ain't, accordin' to our notions out here, an' if yuh wun't help us catch yer friends there ain't nothin' more to be said. Now roll that into a cigarette an' eat it alive if yuh want to." He glared defiantly down on Larkin, whose brows had drawn together as he went into executive session with himself. In five seconds the situation between these men was once more reversed. It was not that Larkin had overreached himself; he simply had encountered a circumstance of which he was unaware. The possibility of Bissell being a deputy sheriff had never occurred to him, and now he sat balked and perplexed, balancing his chances on either hand. It was not in the man to yield supinely to this new danger. He could not even think of the possibility without shame. He was right, he told himself over and over again, and, listen as he would, he could detect no contradictory reply from the still, small voice we are all credited with possessing. His mission in life was to get his sheep through. In that circumstance the rustlers were unexpected allies and he hoped they would put burs under the tails of every steer on the range and drive them to the Gulf of Mexico. Once his merinos and angoras were safe across the line Bud would gladly return and help round them up. The idea that he, clipped, helpless, and harmless as he was, should now turn in and assist his despoilers to better their own fortunes was so maddening that he grinned with fury as he thought of it. No, the thing was impossible! Bissell had not changed his menacing position during all of Bud Larkin's ponderings and was waiting patiently for some outbreak from his victim. But at last he could stand it no more. "Well," he snarled, "say something! What's your answer?" "That bargain goes as she stands," said Bud, after a moment's thought. "You help me and I'll help you. Otherwise you won't get a word out of me, and you can do whatever you like." "You're under arrest," snapped Bissell. "Give me your gun!" and he covered Bud with a single swift motion of his hand. The younger man did as commanded and rose. "Now go into that room; you're a prisoner," ordered Bissell. CHAPTER XII JULIET ASSERTS HERSELF Now that the owner of the Bar T ranch had succeeded again in a match of wits with Larkin, he put sheep out of his mind and turned his attention to the more-immediate danger of rustlers. It had been a matter of a couple of years since the last determined attempt of the cowmen to oust these poachers by force of arms, and Bissell thought that the time was ripe for another and, if possible, final expedition.