in execution--all they were waiting for was night, and a lax guard. He
glanced about at the walls of the room, his eyes grown hard, his teeth
clenched.

"Neb," he said shortly, "I guess that was your outfit all right, but they
were not killed by Indians. They were run down by a gang from this town--
the same fellows who have put you and me in here. I don't know what they
were after--that's to be found out later,--but the fight you put up at the
camp spoiled their game for once, and led to your arrest. They failed to
get what was wanted in Carson, and so they trailed the party to the
Cimmaron Crossing. Then I got on their track, and fearing the result,
they've landed me also. Now they 'll get rid of us both as best they can.
These fellows won't want any trial--that would be liable to give the whole
trick away--but they have got to put us where we won't talk. There is an
easy way to do this, and that is by a lynching bee. Do you get my drift,
Neb?"

The whites of the negro's eyes were very much in evidence, his hands
gripping at the bench on which he sat.

"Fo' de Lawd, yes, Massa Jack, I sho' does. I corroborates de whole
thing."

"Then you are willing to take a chance with me?"

"Willin'! Why, Massa Jack, I'se overjoyed; I ain't gwine leave yer no mo'.
I'se sho' gwine ter be yo' nigger. What yo' gwine ter do?"

Keith ran his eyes over the walls, carefully noting every peculiarity.