"Who, these fellers? Why, them's Isham and Red John Scarborough, two of the dangest cow-thieves unhung; and, as I told 'em just now, they're jealous. There's three brothers of 'em, altogether, and three of the Bassetts; and they used to be hand in glove. They throwed in together to steal old Jensen blind, but now it's dog eat dog. The Bassetts are part Injun and don't want no trouble, but these biggoty Texicans are crowding 'em so hard that I look for the fireworks any time. The Scarboroughs are hiring gunmen--you might git a job yourself--and fixing to run the Bassetts out of the country; and the Bassetts, for revenge, are going to bring in some sheep, and that sure will start a war. They're just watching each other now, and guarding the trails, but there ain't no use of your trying to git in there unless you join one of the gangs. If these boys'd let you pass, the Bassetts would sure git you; and so on, plumb through the Basin. We're all split up, and I've favored the Bassetts; but under the circumstances, and considering how we're fixed, I think we'd better join the Scarboroughs." He glanced up at the loop of the hangman's knot and winked with a knowing leer, but the back of the other prisoner suddenly straightened against the post and fire flashed up in his eyes. "What, join these men after they've held me up and accused me of being a horse-thief? I'd die first--I'd let them hang me, before I'd even consider it. They're nothing but a pair of criminals!" "Well, suit yourself," observed Meshackatee, glancing uneasily towards the door, "but you don't need to holler quite so loud." "I'll say it to their faces!" cried Hall in a passion. "They're a disgrace to the name of Southerners. I'm from the South myself, and back in Kentucky a man holds his honor above his life. Do you think I'll submit to being branded a horse-thief and not call them out, if I live?" "From Kentucky, eh?" grinned Meshackatee, "well this is Arizona, a whole lot further west; and over in the Basin, where they're all from Uvalde, the term 'hawse-thief' is jest a pet name." "'Uvalde'?" repeated Hall. "I don't quite understand you." "Uvalde University! Didn't you ever hear of Uvalde? That's a school for Texas cow-thieves. The teacher in this college is an old, busted-down cow-puncher that's spent half his life in the Pen., and his school-house is a corralful of dust. He starts them boys off at drawing brands in the dirt, and then he puts 'em to work altering 'em; and when a boy can burn every cow-brand in Texas he sends him out west with his diplomy. The diplomy? Oh, that's jest one of these here running-irons, to use on his neighbor's cows." "Yes, I see," responded Hall, smiling absently, and fell into a ruminative silence. "Is it a fact," he asked at last, "that over in Maverick Basin the people are as desperate as you say? I can understand this feud but I can't conceive of a community where a man will let you call him a thief."