Glendin was desperate. He said at length: "When a man's tried in court they bring up his past career. This feller Bard has gone along the range raisin' a different brand of hell everywhere he went. He had a run-in with two gunmen, Ferguson and Conklin. He had Eldara within an ace of a riot the first night he hit the town. Mr. Drew, that chap looks the part of a killer; he acts the part of a killer; and by God, he is a killer." "You seem to have come with your mind already made up, Glendin," said the rancher coldly. "Not a bit. But go through the whole town or Eldara and ask the boys what they think of this tenderfoot. They feel so strong that if he was jailed they'd lynch him." Drew raised a clenched fist and then let his arm fall suddenly limp at his side. "Then surely he must not be jailed." "Want me to let him wander around loose and kill another man--in self-defence?" "I want you to use reason--and mercy, Glendin! "From what I've heard, you ain't the man to talk of mercy, Mr. Drew." The other, as if he had received a stunning blow, slipped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. It was a long moment before he could speak, and when his hands were lowered, Glendin winced at what he saw in the other's face. "God knows I'm not," said Drew. "Suppose we let the shootin' of Calamity go. What of hoss-liftin', sir?" "Horse stealing? Impossible! Anthony--he could not be guilty of it!" "Ask your man Duffy. Bard's ridin' Duffy's grey right now." "But Duffy will press no claim," said the rancher eagerly. "I'll see to that. I'll pay him ten times the value of his horse. Glendin, you can't punish a man for a theft of which Duffy will not complain." "Drew, you know what the boys on the range think of a hoss thief. It ain't the price of what they steal; it's the low-down soul of the dog that would steal it. It ain't the money. But what's a man without a hoss on the range? Suppose his hoss is stole while he's hundred miles from nowhere? What does it mean? You know; it means dyin' of thirst and goin' through a hundred hells before the finish. I say shootin' a man is nothin' compared with stealin' a hoss. A man that'll steal a hoss will shoot his own brother; that's what he'll do. But I don't need to tell you. You know it better'n me. What was it you done with your own hands to Louis Borgen, the hoss-rustler, back ten years ago?" A dead voice answered Glendin: "What has set you on the trail of Bard?" "His own wrong doin'." The rancher waved a hand of careless dismissal. "I know you, Glendin," he said. The deputy stirred in his chair, and then cleared his throat. He said in a rising tone: "What d'you know?" "I don't think you really care to hear it. To put it lightly, Glendin, you've done many things for money. I don't accuse you of them. But if you want to do one thing more, you can make more money at a stroke than you've made in all the rest."