They bade him come out with his hands in the air, and he did so. His boots were somewhat scorched by the flames. Then they tied his hands behind his back and his ankles beneath the horse’s belly, and took him back to town. Toward dusk he was lodged in the calaboose there, and Nick Russ, the deputy, went on guard outside. VI About nine o’clock that night Bud Loupel came to the calaboose and asked if he could talk with Mills. Russ told him to go ahead. Bud asked permission to talk privately; and, though Russ was inclined to protest, he was at length persuaded. The deputy moved away from the little, one-room building, and Bud went inside. Mills was confined in a rude cell of two-by-four timbers. Bud approached these bars, and Jack came to meet him. Loupel was sweating faintly. “For God’s sake, Jack,” he whispered. “This is terrible!” Mills grinned. “Well,” he agreed. “It looks right critical to me.” “If Rand hadn’t happened to get back ahead of time.... Hadn’t come in right then....” “You didn’t happen to know he was coming, I don’t reckon.” Loupel cried: “No, no, Jack. Honest to God!” Mills nodded. “I know. I thought at first you did; but I reckon you wouldn’t play it that low down. Is he--hurt much?” “Oh, you got him.” “Yeah,” said Mills. “Well, that’s tough, too. When is it going to happen to me?” “To-morrow morning.” “They’re right prompt, ain’t they?” Loupel gripped the stout timbers to stop the trembling of his hands. There was a terrible and pitiful anxiety in his voice. “Jack!” he whispered. “Yeah?” “Have you told?” Mills turned his head away; he could not bear to look upon this old friend of his. “Why, no,” he said gently. “No, Bud, I ain’t told. Don’t aim to, if that helps any.” “But the money,” Bud stammered. “The packages of bills. You couldn’t get rid of them. When they find them, they’ll know.” “They won’t find them bundles,” Jack Mills told him; and, while Bud could only stare with widening eyes, he cheerfully explained: “You see, I was cold for a spell. So I had me a little bonfire in that cave.” There was something hideous and craven in the relief that leaped into the eyes of Bud Loupel. Mills reached through the bars, caught the other’s shoulder, shook him upright. “Take a brace, Bud,” he said gently. “Go on home.” Bud Loupel could not speak. He turned and went stumbling toward the door; he forgot so little a thing as shaking his pardner’s hand in farewell. Jack watched him go; and as the other reached the door he called: “Take care of Jeanie, Bud.” Loupel turned to look back, muttered a low assent, went on his way. Mills heard him speak to Russ as he departed. Then the deputy came to look in and make sure that the prisoner was still secure. He resumed his seat on a chair tipped against the wall, just outside the door. Mills went back to the bench against the rear of his cell and rolled and smoked a cigarette. Then he lay down, one knee crossed above the other, and the man on guard heard him whistling.