All the others of the company were lying down, but it was evidently Farrell who had made the prior remark, for he now worried with his shoulders in his blankets to cast them from him, and rising on an elbow, said: "O, no! You don’t have to. But it looks to me mighty like as if you was scared of us—that you don’t lay down and sleep. We ’re square enough with you." Donoghue looked at him in that insolent fashion of opening the eyes wide, and then almost shutting them, and sneered: "Well, well, what are you always opening your eyes up a little ways and peepin’ at one for? One would think you was scared o’ me; and that feller there, that Dan, or what you call him, he keeps waking up and giving a squint around, too. You ’re square with us? We ’re square with you, ain’t we?" Farrell flung the blankets back from him and cried out: "Do you know what I’m goin’ to tell you? I would n’t trust you, not an inch. I got my gun here ready, if you try any nonsense." The gleam of an unholy satisfaction was on Donoghue’s face then, and he cried out: "Well, sir, if I find a man trust me, I ’m square with him; but if he don’t trust me, I don’t play fair with him. That’s right, I guess, ain’t it?" This, to my mind, was a very faulty morality, but it seemed not so to Farrell. "Yes," he agreed. "I reckon that’s generally understood," and then he showed quite a turn for argument on his own plane of thought. "But you don’t trust me, neither," said he, "and if I was payin’ you back the way you talk about, I ’d up and plug you through the head." Argument was not in Donoghue’s line but he cried out: "And where would I be while you were tryin’ it on?" Farrell did not answer, and in the pause Donoghue did indeed continue the argument, unwittingly, to its logical conclusion: "No, no, my boy," he said, "you would n’t plug me here. You would n’t plug me till we got you what you wanted. O! I know your kind well. You thought you held the trumps when you corralled the lad there," and he jerked his head in my direction, "But you did n’t." "It seems to me like as we did," said Farrell, with a vindictive leer, "else why are we here now?" "Here now?" snapped Donoghue. "Why, you’re here because my partner is so durned soft, times. He would n’t—go—on—and leave the lad," he drawled contemptuously. "What good was the boy to you, anyhow?" he asked. "Looks as if you knew you were trying it on with a soft, queer fellow. I ’d ha’ let you eat the boy if you wanted and jest taken a note o’ your ugly blue mug in my mind and said to myself: ’Larry, my boy, when you see that feller ag’in after you ’ve got through with this Lost Cabin Mine—you shoot him on sight!’" "And what if the mug was to follow you up?" said Farrell.