Briscoe, furious at this turn of the tide which had swept Arlie's
sympathies back to his enemy, followed Struve as he sneaked deeper
into the shadow of the trees. The convict was nursing a sprained wrist
when Jed reached him.

"What do you think you've been trying to do, you sap-headed idiot?"
Jed demanded. "Haven't you sense enough to choose a better time than
one when the whole settlement is gathered to help him? And can't you
ever make a clean job of it, you chuckle-minded son of a greaser?"

Struve turned, snarling, on him. "That'll be enough from you, Briscoe.
I've stood about all I'm going to stand just now."

"You'll stand for whatever I say," retorted Jed. "You've cooked your
goose in this valley by to-night's fool play. I'm the only man that
can pull you through. Bite on that fact, Mr. Struve, before you unload
your bile on me."

The convict's heart sank. He felt it to be the truth. The last thing
he had heard was Siegfried's threat to kill him.

Whether Fraser lived or died he was in a precarious position and he
knew it.

"I know you're my friend, Jed," he whined. "I'll do what you say.
Stand by me and I'll sure work with you."

"Then if you take my advice you'll sneak down to the corral, get your
horse, and light out for the run. Lie there till I see you."