"I could have called him while you were away," returned the major
quietly.

The sheriff with a darkened face loosened the sash that bound his
prisoner to the tree, and then, lifting him in his arms, began to ascend
the hill cautiously, dipping into the heavier shadows. But the ascent
was difficult, the load a heavy one, and the sheriff was agile rather
than muscular. After a few minutes' climbing he was forced to pause and
rest his burden at the foot of a tree. But the valley and the man in the
underbrush were no longer in view.

"Come," said the major quietly, "unstrap my ankles and I'll WALK up.
We'll never get there at this rate."

The sheriff paused, wiped his grimy face with his grimier blouse, and
stood looking at his prisoner. Then he said slowly:--

"Look yer! Wot's your little game? Blessed if I kin follow suit."

For the first time the major burst into a rage. "Blast it all! Don't you
see that if I'm discovered HERE, in this way, there's not a man on the
Bar who would believe that I walked into your trap, not a man, by God,
who wouldn't think it was a trick of yours and mine together?"

"Or," interrupted the sheriff slowly, fixing his eyes on his prisoner,
"not a man who would ever trust Major Overstone for a leader again?"

"Perhaps," said the major, unmovedly again, "I don't think EITHER OF US
would ever get a chance of being trusted again by any one."