As the boy crept along the rock face for a better view of his victim, the minutes fled.  Five of them—­ten—­a quarter of an hour passed.  The renegade lay motionless.  Perhaps he hoped that his location was unknown.

The man-hunter on the ledge flung a bullet against the protecting boulder.  His laugh of cruel derision drifted across the canon.

“Run to earth at last, Ranse Roush!” he shouted, “I swore I’d camp on your trail till I got you—­you an’ the rest of yore poison tribe.”

From the trapped wretch quavered back a protest.

“Goddlemighty, I ain’t done nothin’ to you-all.  Lemme explain.”

“Before you do any explainin’ mebbe you’d better guess who it is that’s goin’ to send yore cowardly soul to hell inside of five minutes.”

“If you’re some kin to that gal on the hawss with me, why, I’ll tell you the honest-to-God truth.  I was aimin’ to save her from the ’Paches when I got a chanct.  Come on down an’ let’s we-uns talk it over reasonable.”

The boy laughed again, but there was something very far from mirth in the sound of that chill laughter.  “If you won’t guess I’ll have to tell you Ever hear of the Clantons, Ranse Roush?  I’m one of ’em.  Now you know what chance you got to talk yoreself out of this thing.”

“I—­I’m glad to meet up with you-all.  I got to admit that the Roush clan is dirt mean.  Tha’s why I broke away from ’em.  Tha’s why I come out here.  You Clantons is all right.  I never did go in for this bushwhackin’ with Dave an’ Hugh.  I never—­”

“You’re a born liar like the rest of yore wolf tribe.  You come out here because the country got too hot to hold you after what you did to ’Lindy Clanton.  I might ‘a’ knowed I’d find you with the ’Paches.  You allus was low-mixed Injun.”  The boy had fallen into the hill vernacular to which he had been born.  He was once more a tribal feudist of the border land.

“I swear I hadn’t a thing to do with that,” the man cried eagerly.  “You shore done got that wrong.  Dave an’ Hugh done that.  They’re a bad lot.  When I found out about ’Lindy Clanton I quarreled with ’em an’ we-all split up company.  Tha’s the way of it.”

“You’re ce’tainly in bad luck then,” the boy shouted back tauntingly.  “For I aim to stomp you out like I would a copperhead.”  Very distinctly he added his explanation.  “I’m ’Lindy Clanton’s brother.”

Roush begged for his life.  He groveled in the dust.  He promised to reform, to leave the country, to do anything that was asked of him.

“Go ahead.  It’s meat an’ drink to me to hear a Roush whine.  I got all day to this job, but I aim to do it thorough,” jeered Clanton.

A bullet flattened itself against the rock wall ten feet below the boy.  In despair the man was shooting wildly with his revolver.  He knew there was no use in pleading, that his day of judgment had come.

Young Clanton laughed in mockery.  “Try again, Roush.  You ain’t quite got the range.”