"When you kick a covey of men out of this sagebrush," I explained, "they naturally ask about anything they're after. They inquire if you know a Cock-Robin married to a Jenny-Wren, or an Owl to a Pussycat, or whatever marital misdeal they're trailing. They don't mog on like it was Kansas City or Denver." "Both parties kept still," replied Lungy. "What's the answer, Bill?" "Both got the same guilty secret," said I, "and they've got it the worst. They know where Pete is. So will we if we follow their spoor." We pelted on right brisk after them. The draw got to be a cañon, with grassy, sheep-nibbled bottom, and we knew we were close to somewhere. At last, rolling to us around a bend, came a tide of remarks, rising and swelling to the point of rough-house and riot. "The widow!" said I. "She knows me. You go in, Lungy, and put up a stall to keep 'em from seeing Pete alone first!" I crept up close. The widow was calling the Jackleg everything that a perfect lady as she was, you know, could lay her tongue to, and he trying to blast a crack in the oratory to slip a word into. "I dislike," said Lungy, "to disturb privacy; but we want your man to show us the way." "Who the devil are you?" said the sheriff. "My name--" began Lungy. "Whativer it is, sorr," said the widow, "it's a betther name nor his you shpake to--the black far-down, afther taking me man and lavin' me shtarve wid me babbies he robbed iv what the coort give! But as long as I've a tongue in me hid to hould, ye'll not know where he's hid!" And just then down behind me comes Pete on a fair-sized cayuse branded with a double X. "Dat bane you, Bill?" said he casual-like. "You most skar me!" I flagged him back a piece and told him the Jackleg was there. He ran, and I had to rope him. "You're nervous, Pete," said I, helping him up. "What's the matter?" "Dis blame getaway biz," he said, "bane purty tough on fallar. Ay listen an' yump all tem nights!" "How about going back for the mine?" I asked. "Dat bane gude yoke!" he grinned. "Ay got gude flock an' planty range hare, an' Ay stay, Ay tank. Yu kill lawyer fallar, Bill, an' take half whole shooting-match!" "Got that certificate?" I asked. It was all worn raw at the folds, but he had it. The Jackleg had an assignment all ready on the back, and I wrote Addison's name in, and made Pete sign it. "Now," said I. "We'll take care of Mr. Jackleg, and you'll get something for this, but I don't know what. Don't ever come belly-aching around saying we've bunked you after Lungy has put up his good money and copped the mine. These men want this paper, not you. Probably they've got no warrant. Brace up and stand pat!" So we walked around bold as brass. The widow was dangling a Skandy-looking kid over her shoulder by one foot, and analyzing the parentage of Jackleg. Lungy was grinning, but the sheriff's face was shut down.