"Buck McKee!" he gasped. "This is certainly white of you
considering the circumstances of our last meeting. Did you come
with the Rurales?"

"Hell, no! I come ahead of 'em. In fact, Dick Lane, you air jist
a leetle bit off in your idees about which party I belong to.
When you damned me fer a thievin' half-breed, and run me off the
range, an' tole me to go to the Injun's, whar I belonged, I tuk
yer advice. I'm what you might call the rear-guard of the outfit
you've jist been havin' your shootin'-match with. Or I was the
rear-guard, for you've wiped out the whole dam' battalion, so fur
as I can see. Served 'em right fur detailin' me, the only decent
shooter in the bunch, to watch the horses. I got one shot in as
it wuz. Well, as the last of the outfit, I own a string of ten
ponies. All I need now to set up in business is to have some
prospector who hain't long to live, leave me his little pile uv
dust an' nuggets, an' the claims he's located back in the
mountains. You look a leetle mite like the man. It'll save
vallible time if you make yer dear friend, Buck McKee,
administrater uv yer estate without too much persuadin'. You had
some objection oncet to my slittin' a calf's tongue. Well, you
needn't be scared just yet. That's the last thing I'll do to
you. Come, where's your cache? I know you've got one
hereabouts, fer I foun' signs of the dust in your pack."

Lane set his teeth in a firm resolutions not to say a word. The
taunts of his captor were harder to bear in silence than the
prospects of torture.

"Stubborn, hey? Well, we'll try a little 'Pache persuadin'." And