“Jest stay right thar, pard.”  The words were spoken in an exaggerated Western drawl.  “My barker’s mighty light in the trigger.  I guess it don’t take a hundred-weight to loose it.  And I don’t cotton to mucking up this floor with yer vitals.”

Lablache remained still.  He saw before him the tall thin figure of a half-breed.  He had black lank hair which hung loosely down almost on to his shoulders.  His face was the color of mud, and he was possessed of a pair of keen gray eyes and a thin-hooked nose.  His face wore a lofty look of command, and was stamped by an expression of the unmost resolution.  He spoke easily and showed not the smallest haste.

“Guess we ain’t met before, boss—­not familiar-like, leastways.  My name’s Retief—­Peter Retief, an’ I take it yours is Lablache.  Now I’ve jest come right along to do biz with you—­how does that fit your bowels?”

The compelling ring of metal faced the astonished money-lender.  For the moment he remained speechless.

“Wal?” drawled the other, with elaborate significance.

Lablache struggled for words.  His astonishment—­dismay made the effort a difficult one.

“You’ve got the drop on me you—­you damned scoundrel,” he at last burst out, his face for the moment purpling with rage.  “I’m forced to listen to you now,” he went on more gutturally, as the paroxysm having found vent began to pass, “but watch yourself that you make no bad reckoning, or you’ll regret this business until the rope’s round your neck.  You’ll get nothing out of me—­but what you take.  Now then, be sharp.  What are you going to do?”

The half-breed grinned.

“You’re mighty raw oh the hide jest now, I guess.  But see hyar, my reckonin’s are nigh as slick as yours.  An’ jest slant yer tongue some.  ‘Damned scoundrel’ sliden’ from yer flannel face is like a coyote roundin’ on a timber wolf, an’ a coyote ain’t as low down as a skunk.  I opine I want a deal from you,” Retief went on, with a hollow laugh, “and wot I want I mostly git, in these parts.”

Lablache was no coward.  And even now he had not the smallest fear for his life.  But the thought of being bluffed by the very man he was willing to pay so much for the capture of riled him almost beyond endurance.  The Breed noted the effect of his words and pushed his pistol almost to within arm’s reach of the money-lender’s face.

The half-breed’s face suddenly became stem.

“That’s a dandy ranch of yours down south.  Me an’ my pards ’ave taken a notion to it.  Say, you’re comin’ right along with us.  Savee?  Guess we’ll show you the slickest round up this side o’ the border.  Now jest sit right thar while I let my mates in.”