A ring of awe came in the throat of Daniels as he repeated the incredible fact.

He went on:  “If I was in trouble, I’d rather have him beside me than ten other men; if I was sick I’d rather have him than the ten best doctors in the world; if I wanted a pal that would die for them that done him good and go to hell to get them that done him bad, I’d choose him first, and there ain’t none that come second.”

The panegyric was not a burst of imagination.  Buck Daniels was speaking seriously, hunting for words, and if he used superlatives it was because he needed them.

“Extraordinary!” murmured the doctor, and he repeated the word in a louder tone.  It was a rare word for him; in all his scholastic career and in all of his scientific investigations he had found occasion to use so strong a term not more than half a dozen times at the most.  He went on, cautiously, and his weak eyes blinked at Daniels:  “And there is a relation between this man and a horse and dog?”

Buck Daniels shuddered and his colour changed.

“Listen!” he said, “I’ve talked enough.  You ain’t going to get another word out of me except this:  Doc, have a good sleep, get on your hoss to-morrow mornin’, and beat it.  Don’t even wait for breakfast.  Because, if you do wait, you may get a hand in this little hell of ours.  You may be waiting, too!” A sudden thought brought him to his feet.  He stood over the doctor.  “How many times,” he thundered, “have you seen Kate Cumberland?”

“To-day, for the first time.”

“Well,” said Daniels, growling with relief, “you’ve seen her enough.  I know.”  And he turned towards the door.  “Unlock,” he commanded.  “I’m tired out—­and sick—­of talking about him.”

But the doctor did not move.

“Nevertheless,” he stated, “you will remain.  There is something further which you know and which you will communicate to me.”

Buck Daniels turned at the door; his face was not pleasant.

“While observing you as you talked with the girl,” Byrne said, “it occurred to me that you were holding information from her.  The exact nature of that information I cannot state, but it is reasonable to deduct that you could, at the present moment, name the place where the man for whom Mr. Cumberland and his daughter wait is now located.”

Buck Daniels made no reply, but he returned to his chair and slumped heavily into it, staring at the little doctor.  And Byrne realised with a thrill of pleasure that he was not afraid of death.

“I may further deduct,” said the doctor, “that you will go in person to the place where you know this man may be found and induce him to come to this ranch.”

The silent anger of Daniels died away.  He smiled, and at length he laughed without mirth.

“Doc,” he said, “if you knew where there was a gun, would that make you want to put it up agin your head and pull the trigger?”