“Better now,” he declared in a weak voice. Then his eyes caught Teddy’s face. “I know you! Manley--Bard Manley’s son, ain’t you? And--” He looked at Roy and a slight grin twisted his mouth. “Well, if this ain’t the beatenest! Bein’ helped by the very guys who--who--” he stopped. “Whose horses you stole?” Teddy finished. “Is that what you mean?” The man shook his head. “Not me! I didn’t rustle yore hosses. But what I was goin’ to--to--” a fit of coughing wracked his whole frame. Roy tightened the tourniquet slightly, so that the bleeding would not begin again. When the man regained control of himself Teddy gave him another drink, and he grinned his gratitude. Then, for the first time, he noticed the stick of wood entwined in the improvised bandage. He looked at it curiously. “Where’d you get that?” he asked. “Guess you know,” Roy declared shortly. “It’s the handle to an 8 X 8 branding iron.” A flicker of amusement appeared in the man’s eyes. Then he started to laugh. Weakly at first, then louder, until Teddy feared he might be becoming delirious. But in a moment the laughter ceased, to give way to a sardonic smile. “Ain’t that luck for you?” He looked at the stick once more. “Savin’ my life with a rustler’s branding iron! An’ me--I’m the rustler! Can you beat it?” “Never mind that now,” Teddy said. “What were you saying when that cough hit you?” “Give me a chance, will you?” the man snarled. “Here I am dyin’, maybe, an’ you keep askin’ questions! It’s funny, though--it sure is funny--” “You won’t die unless you get strung up,” Roy asserted coolly. “Better come clean. Who are you? Do you know where our horses are?” For a moment the man did not answer. He appeared to be turning something over in his mind. Then suddenly he hammered his fist on the floor, and raised himself on one elbow. “I’ll tell,” he said forcibly. “I’ll tell you the whole thing! I’m done with Gilly Froud--the rat! He tried his best to kill me! Now listen!” The fire flared up, and Roy and Teddy bent over the injured man. Outside the rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast, so that shadows thrown by the dancing flames played cheerily about in the dim light of the room. A horse whinnied softly, but neither Roy nor Teddy heard it. The man on the floor took a deep breath and continued: “My name--never mind my name. You wouldn’t know it, anyway. My business you gotta know--I’m a rustler.” He paused for a moment. “One of Gilly Froud’s gang?” Roy asked eagerly.