"Oh, Hall, eh?" spoke up the voice. "This is Winchester Bassett. Come down, boys, and I'll stake you to a horse." They crept down through the shadows and met him at the creek, still smiling but without his jaunty air. A thick growth of black beard made his face look deathly pale, his clothes were hanging in shreds, and as he wrung Hall's hand he had a wild look in his eyes though he tried to conceal it with a smile. "Well, well, Hall," he said, "I'm sure glad to see you. And you, too, Meshackatee--how are you? But say, we'd better go, because the Scarboroughs will be back and we don't want to git caught in this brush. Heard you shooting down here, and Bill and me took a chance--we winged two of 'em and captured all their horses." "I knowed it!" exclaimed Meshackatee, "I almost knowed that that was you. They ain't many men, I'll say, that can work a Winchester that fast----" "I was named after it," grinned Winchester. "How're you fixed for ammunition?" "Whole pack-load!" answered Meshackatee. "Thought you boys might be short. Come on, let's go bring it down." They caught their frightened horses and threw on the packs while Winchester turned back to join Bill; but when they arrived they found the Bassetts in a rock-pile, for much bush-whacking had got on their nerves. "Help yourselves, boys," invited Winchester, waving his hand at the Scarborough horses which were tied among the willows by the creek, "and for cripes' sake, make it brief." They mounted helter-skelter, driving the spare horses before them as they dashed across the creek and away; but when they had put a mile between themselves and the treacherous hillside Winchester held up his hand for a halt. "No rush now, fellers," he said, "we'll jest see what happens. And by the way, what's the chances for a smoke?" "Good!" beamed Meshackatee, "got lots of to-baccy--I knowed you boys would be short." "Oh, you did, eh?" observed Winchester, after rolling a quick smoke, and he cocked his head at Bill. "Yep, brought lo-ots of tobaccy," repeated Meshackatee hospitably, as he began to unlash his pack. "I'll git you them cartridges now." "Damned good of you," murmured Winchester, "but what's the big idee? I ain't curious, I jest want to know." "Oh, didn't I tell ye?" grinned Meshackatee, "me and Hall are deputy sheriffs!" "The--hell!" scoffed Winchester, and Bill stopped smoking long enough to feel for his gun. "That's the fact," returned Meshackatee, "got warrants for the Scarboroughs. Want you and Bill to help serve 'em." There was a silence then as Winchester tugged at his mustache and considered the possibilities of the case. "Well, I'll tell you, Meshackatee," he said at last, "of course it's all right but, after what's happened, Bill and I don't want 'em arrested. We want to see 'em killed."