"What are you so high and mighty about?" he demanded, throwing his hat on the table near which Rebstock had seated himself. "Why don't you come out when I send a man to you, or send word what you will do? What have you got to kick about? Haven't you been treated right?" Being in no position to complain, but shrewdly aware that much unpleasantness was in the wind, Rebstock beat about the bush. He had had rheumatism; he couldn't ride; he had been in bed three weeks and hadn't seen Du Sang for three months. "You ain't chasing up here after Du Sang because he killed a man at Mission Springs. I know better than that. That ain't the first man he's killed, and it ain't a' goin' to be the last." Whispering Smith lifted his finger and for the first time smiled. "Now there you err, Rebstock--it is 'a goin' to be' the last. So you think I'm after you, do you? Well, if I were, what are you going to do about it? Rebstock, do you think, if I wanted _you_, I would send a message for you to come out and meet me? Not on your life! When I want you I'll come to your shack and drag you out by the hair of the head. Sit down!" roared Whispering Smith. Rebstock, who weighed at least two hundred and seventy-five pounds, had lifted himself up to glare and swear freely. Now he dropped angrily back into his chair. "Well, who do you want?" he bellowed in kind. A smile softened the asperity of the railroad man's face. "That's a fair question and I give you a straight answer. I'm not bluffing: I want Du Sang." Rebstock squirmed. He swore with shortened breath that he knew nothing about Du Sang; that Du Sang had stolen his cattle; that hanging was too good for him; that he would join any _posse_ in searching for him; and that he had not seen him for three months. "Likely enough," assented Whispering Smith, "but this is wasting time. He rode in here last night after killing old Dan Baggs. Your estimable nephew Barney is with him, and Karg is with him, and I want them; but, in especial and particular, I want Du Sang." Rebstock denied, protested, wheezed, and stormed, but Whispering Smith was immovable. He would not stir from the Cache upon any promises. Rebstock offered to surrender any one else in the Cache--hinted strongly at two different men for whom handsome rewards were out; but every compromise suggested was met with the same good-natured words: "I want Du Sang."