back a stride and laying my eye closer along the pistol. "If you call me
your son again I'll send you to your fathers."

His smile darkened. "I am your prisoner," he said, with a sudden
splendid stateliness, and right then I guessed who he was.

"Yess, sir, you are!" I retorted. "Move to that wagon! And if you take
one step out of common time you'll never take another."

The aunt and her nieces were standing in the carry-all, she majestic,
they laughing and weeping in the one act. I waved them into their seats.

"Halt!" We halted. "About face!" As the prisoner eyed me both of us
listened. His equanimity was almost winsome, and I saw that friendliness
was going to be his tactics.

"Guess I'm the first Yankee y' ever caught, ain't I?" His smile was
superior, but congratulatory.

"You'll be the first prisoner I ever shot if you get any funnier!"

We listened again. "They've gone the wrong way," I said, still savage.

"No," he replied, "I came the wrong way."

The ladies smiled; I glowered. "Take those horses by their heads and
turn them to me!"

An instant his superb eye resented, but then he pleasantly did my
bidding. "Suits me well; rather chance it with you than with those I've