“I swear!...  But if you tell dad—­I stole his cattle—­he’ll do for me!”

“We won’t squeal that.  I’ll save you if you give up the girl.  Once more, Buster Jack—­try an’ make me believe you’ll square the deal.”

Belllounds had lost his voice.  But his mute, fluttering lips were infinite proof of the vow he could not speak.  The boyishness, the stunted moral force, replaced the manhood in him then.  He was only a factor in the lives of others, protected even from this Nemesis by the greatness of his father’s love.

“Get up, an’ take my scarf,” said Wade, “an’ bandage these bullet-holes I got.”

CHAPTER XVIII

Wade’s wounds were not in any way serious, and with Belllounds’s assistance he got to the cabin of Lewis, where weakness from loss of blood made it necessary that he remain.  Belllounds went home.

The next day Wade sent Lewis with pack-horse down to the rustler’s cabin, to bury the dead men and fetch back their effects.  Lewis returned that night, accompanied by Sheriff Burley and two deputies, who had been busy on their own account.  They had followed horse tracks from the water-hole under Gore Peak to the scene of the fight, and had arrived to find Lewis there.  Burley had appropriated the considerable amount of gold, which he said could be identified by cattlemen who had bought the stolen cattle.

When opportunity afforded Burley took advantage of it to speak to Wade when the others were out of earshot.

“Thar was another man in thet cabin when the fight come off,” announced the sheriff.  “An’ he come up hyar with you.”

“Jim, you’re locoed,” replied Wade.

The sheriff laughed, and his shrewd eyes had a kindly, curious gleam.

“Next you’ll be givin’ me a hunch thet you’re in a fever an’ out of your head.”

“Jim, I’m not as clear-headed as I might be.”

“Wal, tell me or not, jest as you like.  I seen his tracks—­follered them.  An’ Wade, old pard, I’ve reckoned long ago thar’s a nigger in the wood-pile.”

“Sure.  An’ you know me.  I’d take it friendly of you to put Moore’s trial off fer a while—­till I’m able to ride to Krernmlin’.  Maybe then I can tell you a story.”

Burley threw up his hands in genuine apprehension.  “Not much!  You ain’t agoin’ to tell me no story!...  But I’ll wait on you, an’ welcome.  Reckon I owe you a good deal on this rustler round-up.  Wade, thet must have been a man-sized fight, even fer you.  I picked up twenty-six empty shells.  An’ the little half-breed had one empty shell an’ five loaded ones in his gun.  You must have got him quick.  Hey?”

“Jim, I’m observin’ you’re a heap more curious than ever, an’ you always was an inquisitive cuss,” complained Wade.  “I don’t recollect what happened.”

“Wal, wal, have it your own way,” replied Burley, with good nature.  “Now, Wade, I’ll pitch camp hyar in the park to-night, an’ to-morrer I’ll ride down to White Slides on my way to Kremmlin’.  What’re you wantin’ me to tell Belllounds?”