"No, you are mistaken," answered the prisoner firmly. "I'm just looking for a certain party that I know." "Oho!" exclaimed Red, stooping to feel for his badge, "so we've picked up an officer, have we?" "No, again," replied the prisoner. "I am looking for a friend, and your quarrels are nothing to me." "Well, er--who is this friend?" inquired Isham suspiciously, but the stranger shook his head. "I cannot tell you that, but I give you my word of honor I am not going in to join the Bassetts. And now, if you'll kindly untie these ropes----" "Don't you think it!" raged Isham, "not after what you did! You murdering black hound, you started to grab your gun and gut-shoot me before I could pull. You're a Bassett gunman and you'll never git past here, so you might as well say your prayers. Come on, Red; let's string him up!" "Naw, leave him wait!" answered Red impatiently. "I want to keep my eye on that trail. Let's git that other jasper and throw him in here too; and then, if they don't come through, we can hang 'em!" They withdrew hurriedly and as he listened to their footsteps the prisoner ventured the ghost of a smile. It was very impressive, with the hangman's knot and all, but in spite of their bluster he still doubted their big words and their threats to take his life. And as for this other prisoner--he dismissed him with a shrug and turned to inspect his cell. But as he gazed at the blank walls he heard a scuffle without and the thud of heavy blows, and then a hoarse voice burst out in frightful oaths which were smothered as the struggles increased. "You ain't _man_ enough!" it roared, suddenly blaring out again. "No, you can't _put_ me in there, the two of you!" There was a rush and a slapping of feet, choking curses and a chorus of grunts, and then Isham plunged through the doorway, heaving away at a rope, while his brother fought the prisoner from behind. The rope, which had once been thrown about the prisoner's neck, was clutched back by a huge, hairy hand; and as Red pushed him in the other hand swept out in a last, bearlike swipe at his head. But the Scarboroughs were powerful men, accustomed to roping and tying steers, and despite his efforts they dragged him to a post and tied his hands together behind it. "Oh, we cain't, hey?" they taunted, and the prisoner panted angrily as he shook back his tumbled black hair. "You danged, ornery cow-thieves," he began in measured tones, "I know what's the matter with you--you're jealous. You want all the stealing for yourselves. You ain't satisfied with taking what comes your way; you want to hog it all. But I'll see you in hell first, you low-down Texican polecats, before I'll----"