Dawn was creeping up the valley, and, calling young Kitsong from the doze into which he had fallen, he said: "Now, Henry, I'm going to take this bunch down to the sheriff, and you might as well make up your mind to it first as last. You go out and saddle up while the senorita heats up some more coffee, and we'll get ready and start." Hanscom was by no means as confident as his voice sounded, and, as the young fellow rose to go, only half expected him to show his face again. "Well, let him slip," he said to himself. "I'll be safer without him." Busby spoke up from the floor. "You stay with the game, Hank, and you ride your own horse." "You bet I'll ride my own horse," Kitsong violently retorted, from the doorway. The girl, who understood the significance of this controversy, interposed. "I'll ride the sorrel. He's my horse, anyway." Hanscom mockingly chimed in. "That's mighty fine and self-sacrificing, but it won't do. The rider who fired that shot was a man. But I'll leave it to Henry. Bring around the horses, and remember, if you slip out with that bay horse I'll _know_ you rode the sorrel yesterday." The situation had become too complicated for the girl, who fell silent, while Busby cursed the ranger in fierce, set terms. "What right have you got to arrest us, anyhow?" "All the right I need. That shooting began inside the forest boundary, and it's my duty to see that you are placed in the hands of the law." Here his voice took on a note of grim determination. "And I want you to understand there will be no funny business on the way down." "How can I ride, all tied up like this?" demanded the ruffian. "Oh, I'm going to untie you, and you are going to come along quietly--either as live stock or freight--you can take your choice." Busby, subdued by several hours on the floor, was disposed to do as he was told, and Hanscom unbound his legs and permitted him to rise. As young Kitsong brought the horses around in front of the cabin, Hanscom was not disappointed in finding the girl's saddle on the sorrel. He made no comment. "Now, Busby, we'll mount you first," he said, and slipped the bridle from the horse. "You see, to make sure of you I am going to lead your pony." He then untied the youth's hands. "Climb on!" he commanded. Busby silently mounted to his saddle, the girl took the sorrel, and at command Kitsong started down the trail. "You go next," said Hanscom to the girl, "now you, Busby," he added, and with the rope across the horse's rump--the trick of a trained trailer--he started down the trail.