This Froud was no weakling. He sat hunched over in his saddle, huge shoulders bent forward. The arm which supported the gun wavered not an inch, but held firm as a rock. “Don’t start askin’ questions,” Froud growled. “It won’t do you no good, ’cause I don’t know nothin’ about yore hosses. I heard you had ’em stolen from the hitchin’ rail at Eagles. Well, any one who’s fool enough to leave a hoss unguarded in that town, should have him stolen!” “That’s a lie, Froud, and you know it!” Roy said hotly. “They’d never have been touched if it hadn’t been for you--and that pal of yours in the checkered shirt.” “Hey? What’s that?” Froud exclaimed in a startled voice. The muzzle of the gun pointed downward for a moment, but Froud quickly brought it to bear again upon the boy. “What do you know about a man in a checkered shirt? Speak up!” “Enough,” Roy ventured grimly. He was watching the rustler closely, ready to take advantage of any chance offered. But Froud did not relax his vigilance. “What’s his name, this bird in the--er--striped shirt?” the former cowboy from the X Bar X demanded. “I don’t know his name, but I know him!” the boy exclaimed. “And I know he’s one of your gang, too!” “So you don’t know his name, hey?” Froud appeared relieved. “Well, he’s no friend o’ mine. He travels with a different outfit than what I do. Here--” Froud suddenly peered out from the trees. The next moment he jammed the gun into Roy’s ribs. “You make a sound an’ I’ll drill you sure!” he whispered fiercely. Cautiously, Roy turned his head. Not fifty feet away was his brother Teddy, riding slowly along past the grove. “Quiet!” Froud ordered softly between set teeth. “If you want to see how two ounces of lead feels between yore ribs, just yell! By golly, I’ll blow yore liver right out o’ you!” Roy recognized the desperate ring in the rustler’s voice and knew that the least move on his part would result in his death. Froud was seized with a sort of panic, and at the slightest sign from Teddy that the latter knew of his brother’s plight, the rascal would start shooting. As Roy saw his brother pass out of sight, he felt the pressure of the gun at his side relax, and Froud unconsciously sighed with relief. “I’m takin’ no chances,” he whispered in Roy’s ear. “Don’t you talk till I say so! Do you hear?” A moment more, and the sound of Teddy’s horse died away in the distance. “Guess he’s gone,” Froud declared. “But I don’t want no funny work, savvy? Don’t think that because I haven’t got this gun stuck in yore ribs that I ain’t got you covered. You keep both yore hands on the pommel of yore saddle--no lower.” “If you didn’t steal our broncs, what’s the idea of being so touchy?” Roy asked in as innocent a voice as he could summon. “Why not let me ride on and try to find the thieves who took Bug Eye’s flivver?”