trial for it. I won't sneak away like a common murderer. I know my
act was no crime, let the decision of the jury be what it may."

The half-breed regarded him with a puzzled frown. "You mean you lak'
fer git arres'?" he asked in surprise.

"Why, of course! I--" the other interrupted with a laugh.

"A'right. Dat de kin' Sam Moore she lak' fer arres'. Sam, she layin'
back here a ways. She dipity sher'ff, an' we'n we com' on dem hoss',
Sam she git to fink 'bout he's wife an' kids. He don' fink 'bout dem
mooch only w'en he git dronk, or git scairt. Den he lov' 'em lak'
hell, an' he grab de beeg belly-ache, so dey don' got for feel sorry
'bout heem gittin' keel."

Slipping his own gun into its holster, the half-breed turned and walked
toward the spot where he had left the deputy, and as he walked he threw
open the cylinder of the officer's gun and removed the cartridges.

"Sam!" he called sharply. Cautiously a head raised from behind a sage
bush. "How long you t'ink dat tak' you git well? Wan man he lak' for
git arres' w'en you git time."

"Shut up! Don't talk so loud! D'you want to git us killed? Which one
got it?"

"Purdy. De pilgrim shoot heem 'cause he run off wit' he's girl."

"Pilgrim! What pilgrim! An' what girl? Ain't that Tex Benton's
horse, an' Cinnabar Joe's----?"