“They probably think that one or the other of you knows where the letters are hidden,” I whispered, “and they’ll keep a watch on you; so go slow.”

He nodded, and followed the sheriff and Lord Ralles out.

The moment they were gone, Mr. Camp said, “I came back to give you a last chance.”

“That’s very good of you,” I said.

“I warn you,” he muttered threateningly, “we are not men to be beaten.  There are fifty cowboys of Baldwin’s in this town, who think you were concerned in the holding up.  By merely tipping them the wink, they’ll have you out of this, and after they’ve got you outside I wouldn’t give the toss of a nickel for your life.  Now, then, will you hand over those letters, or will you go to ——­ inside of ten minutes?”

I lost my temper in turn.  “I’d much prefer going to some place where I was less sure of meeting you,” I retorted; “and as for the cowboys, you’ll have to be as tricky with them as you want to be with me before you’ll get them to back you up in your dirty work.”

At this point the sheriff called back to ask Camp if he was coming.

“All right,” cried Camp, and went to the door.  “This is the last call,” he snarled, pausing for a moment on the threshold.

“I hope so,” said I, more calmly in manner than in feeling, I have to acknowledge, for I didn’t like the look of things.  That they were in earnest I felt pretty certain, for I understood now why they had let my companions out of jail.  They knew that angry cowboys were a trifle undiscriminating, and didn’t care to risk hanging more than was necessary.

A long time seemed to pass after they were gone, but in reality it wasn’t more than fifteen minutes before I heard some one steal up and softly unlock the door.  I confess the evident endeavor to do it quietly gave me a scare, for it seemed to me it couldn’t be an above-board movement.  Thinking this, I picked up the box on which I had been sitting and prepared to make the best fight I could.  It was a good deal of relief, therefore, when the door opened just wide enough for a man to put in his head, and I heard the sheriff’s voice say, softly—­

“Hi, Gordon!”

I was at the door in an instant, and asked—­

“What’s up?”

“They’re gettin’ the fellers together, and sayin’ that yer shot a woman in the hold-up.”

“It’s an infernal lie,” I said.

“Sounds that way to me,” assented the sheriff; “but two-thirds of the boys are drunk, and it’s a long time since they’ve had any fun.”

“Well,” I said, as calmly as I could, “are you going to stand by me?”

“I would, Mr. Gordon,” he replied, “if there was any good, but there ain’t time to get a posse, and what’s one Winchester against a mob of cowboys like them?”

“If you’ll lend me your gun,” I said, “I’ll show just what it is worth, without troubling you.”

“I’ll do better than that,” offered the sheriff, “and that’s what I’m here for.  Just sneak, while there’s time.”