“I mean the rifle you stole from our camp this afternoon.  I want it and I’m going to have it.”

“See here,” said the man, who was purple with rage, as he picked up a rifle, “I’ll blow the top of your head off if you tell me I lie.”

“You lie,” said Ned calmly.  “You are a liar, a thief and a coward.  Now give me that rifle.  I am not going to ask you for it many more times.”

“I won’t give it to you and I don’t know what keeps me from blowing your head off.  I believe I will yet.”

“I can tell you why you don’t.  Because you know there would be a hundred men on your trail who would never leave it while you were alive.  Because you wouldn’t dare show your face to man, woman or child, white, black or red, in Lee County or anywhere else.  Because your own partner would be the first to give you up.”

“He would, would he?”

“Yes, he would!” said the man referred to.  “Don’t be a fool, but give the kid his gun, or I will.”

The rifle was handed to Ned and the boys paddled back to their camp.  On the way Dick said: 

“I was scared stiff, Ned, when that fellow took up his rifle and I saw how mad he was.  Weren’t you a little bit frightened yourself?”

“Not then.  I’m a good deal scared now to think of it.”

As the boys that night sat leaning against a log which they had made soft with masses of long gray moss, watching the dying out of the fire which had cooked their supper, another skiff touched at their bank, bringing the man to whom they had given the salt and also carrying the carcass of a fine buck.

“There, boys, better smoke what yer can’t eat by termorrer.  I’ll show yer how.”

“We know how and we’re very much obliged.  But we must pay for it, you know.”

“I can’t take a cent and it makes me feel bad t’ have yer talk about it.  Have yer seen them fellers yit?”

“Oh, yes.  They called on us and we returned the call.  We didn’t happen to be at home when they called, though,” said Dick.

“They come here t’ your camp?”

“Yes.  They certainly came.”

“’nd you not here?”

“No.”

“What did they take?”

“Stole a rifle,” said Dick.

“I’ll git it back.  Don’t yer worry, I’ll git it back and I’ll start now,” and the outlaw rose from the log on which he was sitting.

“Don’t go.  We got the rifle back.”

“How did yer do it?”

Dick told the story of the recovery of the rifle.  The outlaw sat for a minute looking down at the ashes of the fire, and then, speaking very slowly and with emphatic little nods between the words, said: 

“And them’s th’ fellers I thought needed lookin’ arter.”

There was silence for some time and then Ned spoke in a voice that was low from suppressed feeling.

“My friend, I don’t know your name.  I don’t know what you did.  I don’t ask it.  But I believe you are too good a man to be living the life of an outlaw.  Now, can’t something be done to help you?  If some men of influence worked for your pardon, couldn’t it be got?”