“Now, Lablache,” he said coldly, “I guess you’re goin’ to see some fun.  I ain’t mostly hard on people.  I like to do the thing han’some.  Say I’ll jest roll this bar’l ‘long so as you ken set.  An’ see hyar, ef you’re mighty quiet I’ll loose them hands o’ yours.”

Lablache deigned no reply, but the other was as good as his word.

“Sulky, some, I guess,” the half-breed went on.  “Wal, I’m not goin’ back on my word,” he added as he rolled the barrel up to his prisoner and scotched it securely.  “Thar, set.”

The money-lender didn’t move.

“Set!” This time the word conveyed a command and the other sat down on the barrel.

“Guess I can’t stand cantankerous cusses.  Now, let’s have a look at yer bracelets.”

He sat beside his captive and proceeded to loosen the rope which bound his wrists.  Then he quietly drew his pistol and rested it on his knee.  Lablache enjoyed his freedom, but wondered what was coming next.

There was a moment of silence while the two men gazed at the corrals and buildings set out before them.  Away to the right, on a rising ground, stood a magnificent house built of red pine lumber.  Lablache had built this as a dwelling for himself.  For the prairie it was palatial, and there was nothing in the country to equal it.  This building alone had cost sixty thousand dollars.  On a lower level there were the great barns.  Four or five of these stood linked up by smaller buildings and quarters for the ranch hands.  Then there was a stretch of low buildings which were the boxes built for the great man’s thoroughbred stud horses.  He was possessed of six such animals, and their aggregate cost ran into thousands of pounds, each one having been imported from England.

Then there were the corrals with their great ten-foot walls, all built of the finest pine logs cut from the mountain forests.  These corrals covered acres of ground and were capable of sheltering five thousand head of cattle without their capacity being taxed.  It was an ideal place and represented a considerable fortune.  Lablache noticed that the corrals were entirely empty.  He longed to ask his captor for explanation, but would not give that swarthy individual the satisfaction of imparting unpleasant information.

However, Retief did not intend to let the money-lender off lightly.  The cruel expression of his face deepened as he followed the direction of Lablache’s gaze.

“Fine place, this,” he said, with a comprehensive nod.  “Cost a pile o’ dollars, I take it.”

No answer.

“You ain’t got much stock.  Guess the boys ’ave helped themselves liberal.”

Lablache turned his face towards his companion.  He was fast being drawn.

“Heard ’em gassin’ about twenty thousand head some days back.  Guess they’ve borrowed ’em,” he went on indifferently.

“You villain!” the exasperated prisoner hissed at last.

If ever a look conveyed a lust for murder Lablache’s lashless eyes expressed it.