the sheriff hoarsely. "There'll be more to this. You haven't got out
of the country yet."

"That will be all from you, Sheriff. You, too, Creagan--and Espalin.
Not a word or I'll shoot. And I don't care how soon you begin to talk.
That goes!"

Espalin shriveled up; the sheriff and Creagan sat sullen and silent.

Foy got to his feet rather unsteadily.

"Chris, you might slip around and gather up their guns," said Pringle.
"Pick out one for yourself. I left yours where I threw it when I
picked it out of your belt. I meant to knock you out, Chris--there
wasn't any other way; but I didn't mean to plumb kill you. You hit
your head on a rock when you fell. It wouldn't have done any good to
have got the drop on you. You had made up your mind not to surrender.
You would have shot anyhow; and, of course, I couldn't shoot. I'd
just have got myself killed for nothing. No good to play I'd taken you
prisoner. This crowd knew you wouldn't be taken--except by treachery.
So I played traitor. As it was, when I knocked you out you didn't look
much like no put-up job. You was bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Hold on, there, before you try to take my gun!" warned old Nueces
River as Foy came to him for his gun, collecting. "You got the big
drop on me, Pringle, and I wouldn't raise a hand to keep Chris from
getting off anyhow--not now. But I used to be a ranger--and the
rangers were sworn never to give up their guns."

"How about it, Pringle?" asked Foy, who had already relieved the