“I've read about such critters as you be,” said the colonel slowly, “but it was in a dime novel and it was a good many years ago and I didn't believe it. I believe it said in the novel that the young man died young and went to heaven--the only one of his kind. P'raps I'm wrong and he didn't die--went to heaven jest as he stood in his shoes and co't and pants.” Parker merely scowled back at the biting irony of this rejoinder. “There's no dime novel or any other kind of a novel to this affair, Colonel Ward. I'm not especially fitted to be the hero of a book. Nor to be one of your hired men, either.” “Then ye've made up your mind to straddle out your legs and play Branscome's mule, hey?” “What was his special characteristic?” The question was drawled coolly. “He kicked when ye tried to drive him with a whip and he bit and squealed when ye tried to coax him along with sweet apples. So if ye won't neither lead nor drive, then out with it man fashion.” “I simply demand my liberty.” “And what be ye goin' to do with it?” “That is my own affair.” The two men sat and looked at each other a long time, the old man's choler rising the higher from the fact that it had been so long repressed. The young man's glance did not fall before this furious regard. At last Ward quivered his fists above his head, stamped around the little room and went to the door. “You've got a few hours to do a little more thinkin' in, and then you look out for yourself, for it's up to you, you--,” he slammed and locked the door and went away, cursing horribly. CHAPTER ELEVEN--THE BEAR THAT WALKED LIKE A MAN That in this age of law and order Gideon Ward meditated any actual violence to his person Parker found it hard to believe as he sat there in the “wangan” and pondered on his situation. He could not avoid the conclusion that at heart Colonel Ward was a coward. But sometimes circumstances that a brave man will not suffer to rule him will drive a coward into crime. It was a long and dreary day for him. From the window he saw Colonel Ward go scurrying away on a jumper, evidently bound for the choppings. The cook and cookee surveyed his prison at a distance. They seemed to have no desire to come into close contact with a man of whom they had heard such sinister reports. Hackett, who hung about camp, apparently to serve as general “striker” and man of all work, brought food at noon and left it without engaging in conversation. Parker made a dull day of it. After the chill dusk had fallen and he had stuffed his rusty little stove with all the wood it would hold, he heard the men returning. A colloquy that occurred after supper interested him. He heard Colonel Ward bellow at some one who was evidently advancing toward the wangan. “Here you, Connick, where are you goin'?” “Just to pass a word with the lad,” the man replied.