As the two men appeared, it was clear to the hidden observer that the weakling had in some way incurred his master's displeasure. The big man's face was red with anger, and his eyes were hard and cruel, while Joe had more than aver the look of a lost dog that expects nothing less than a curse and a kick. Nick drank at the spring, then turned back to his companion, who had not dismounted, but sat on his horse cringing and frightened, trying, with fluttering fingers, to roll a cigarette. A moment the big man surveyed his trembling follower; then, taking a heavy quirt from his saddle, he said with a contemptuous sneer, "Well, why don't you get your drink?" "I ain't thirsty, Nick," faltered the other. "You ain't thirsty?" mocked the man with a jeering laugh. "You're lying, an' you know it. Get down!" "Hones' to God, Nick, I don't want no drink," whimpered Joe, as his master toyed with the quirt suggestively. "Get down, I tell you!" commanded the big man. Joe obeyed, his thin form shaking with fear, and stood shrinking against his horse's side, his fearful eyes fixed on the man. "Now, come here." "Don't, Nick; for God's sake! don't hit me. I didn't mean no harm. Let me off this time, won't you, Nick?" "Come here. You got it comin', damn you, an' you know it. Come here, I say!" As if it were beyond his power to refuse, the wretched creature took a halting step or two toward the man whose brutal will dominated him; then he paused and half turned, as if to attempt escape. But that menacing voice stopped him. "Come here!" Whimpering and begging, with disconnected, unintelligible words, the poor fellow again started toward the man with the quirt. At the critical moment a quiet, well-schooled voice interrupted the scene. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Cambert!" Nick whirled with an oath of surprise and astonishment, to face Patches, who was coming leisurely toward him from the bushes above the spring. "What are you doin' here?" demanded Nick, while his victim slunk back to his horse, his eyes fixed upon the intruder with dumb amazement. "I came for a drink," returned Patches coolly. "Excellent water, isn't it? And the day is really quite warm--makes one appreciate such a delightfully cool retreat, don't you think?" "Heard us comin' an' thought you'd play the spy, did you?" growled the Tailholt Mountain man. Patches smiled. "Really, you know, I am afraid I didn't think much about it," he said gently. "I'm troubled that way, you see," he explained, with elaborate politeness. "Often do things upon impulse, don't you know--beastly embarrassing sometimes." Nick glared at this polite, soft-spoken gentleman, with half-amused anger. "I heard there was a dude tenderfoot hangin' 'round the Cross-Triangle," he said, at last. "You're sure a hell of a fine specimen. You've had your drink; now s'pose you get a-goin'." "I beg pardon?" drawled Patches, looking at him with innocent inquiry. "Vamoose! Get out! Go on about your business."