Texas Smith had his revolver and long hunting-knife in his waist-belt.  He thought of drawing both at once and going at Thurstane, who was certainly in no better state for battle, having only revolver and sabre.  But the chance of combat was even; the certainty of being slaughtered after it by the soldiers was depressing; and, what was more immediately to the point, he was cowed by that stare of habitual authority.

“Capm—­I don’t,” he said, watching the officer with the eye of a lynx, for, however unwilling to fight as things were, he meant to defend himself.

“Because I could have you set up by my sergeant and executed by my privates,” continued Thurstane.

“Capm, I reckon you’re sound there,” admitted Texas, with a slight flinch in his manner.

“Now, then, do you want to fight a duel?” broke out the angry youngster, his pugnacity thoroughly getting the better of his wisdom.  “We both have pistols.”

“Capm,” said the bravo, and then came to a pause—­“Capm, I ain’t a gentleman,” he resumed, with the sulky humility of a bulldog who is beaten by his master.  “I own up to it, Capm.  I ain’t a gentleman.”

He was a “poor white” by birth; he remembered still the “high-toned gentlemen” who used to overawe his childhood; he recognized in Thurstane that unforgotten air of domination, and he was thoroughly daunted by it.  Moreover, there was his acquired and very rational fear of the army—­a fear which had considerably increased upon him since he had joined this expedition, for he had noted carefully the disciplined obedience of the little squad of regulars, and had been much struck with its obvious potency for offence and defence.

“You won’t fight?” said the officer.  “Well, then, will you stop hunting me?”

“Capm, I’ll go that much.”

“Will you pledge yourself not to harm any one in this party, man or woman?”

“I’ll go that much, too.”

“I don’t want to get any tales out of you.  You can keep your secrets.  Damn your secrets!”

“Capm, you’re jest the whitest man I ever see.”

“Will you pledge yourself to keep dark about this talk that we’ve had?”

“You bet!” replied Texas Smith, with an indescribable air of humiliation.  “I’m outbragged.  I shan’t tell of it.”

“I shall give orders to my men.  If anything queer happens, you won’t live the day out.”

“The keerds is stocked agin me, Capm.  I pass.  You kin play it alone.”

“Now, then, walk back to the Casa, and keep quiet during the rest of this journey.”

The most humbled bushwhacker and cutthroat between the two oceans, Texas Smith stepped out in front of Thurstane and returned to the cooking-fire, not quite certain as he marched that he would not get a pistol-ball in the back of his head, but showing no emotion in his swarthy, sallow, haggard countenance.

Although Thurstane trusted that danger from that quarter was over, he nevertheless called Meyer aside and muttered to him, “Sergeant, I have some confidential orders for you.  If murder happens to me, or to any other person in this party, have that Texan shot immediately.”