There was something wonderfully fascinating and lofty in the hustler’s direct, piercing gaze as, proudly disdainful, he looked down upon his discomfited prisoner.

He seemed in no hurry to speak.  A shadowy smile hovered about his face as he eyed the officer.  Then he turned away and looked over to the eastern horizon.  He turned back again and drawled out a greeting.  It was not cordial but it was characteristic of him.

“Wal?”

Horrocks made no reply.  The Breed laughed mockingly, and leant forward upon the horn of his saddle.

“Guess you’ve satisfied your curiosity—­some.  Say, the boys didn’t handle you too rough, I take it.  I told ’em to go light.”

Horrocks was constrained to retort.

“Not so rough as you’ll be handled when you get the law about you.”

“Now I call that unfriendly.  Guess them’s gopher’s words.  But say, pard, the law ain’t got me yet.  Wot d’ye think of the road across the keg?  Mighty fine trail that.”  He laughed as though enjoying a good joke.

Horrocks felt that he must terminate this interview.  The Breed had a most provoking way with him.  His self-satisfaction annoyed his hearer.

“How much longer do you intend to keep me here?” Horrocks exclaimed bitterly.  “I suppose you mean murder; you’d better get on with it and stop gassing.  Men of your kidney don’t generally take so much time over that sort of business.”

Retief seemed quite unruffled.

“Murder?  Why, man, I didn’t bring you here to murder you.  Guess ef I’d a notion that way you’d ‘a’ been done neat long ago.  No, I jest wanted to show you what you wanted to find out.  Now I’m goin’ to let you go, so you, an’ that skunk Lablache’ll be able to chin-wag over this night’s doin’s.  That’s wot I’m here fer right now.”

As he finished speaking the Breed circled Golden Eagle round behind the tree, and, bending low down from the saddle, he cut the rope which held the policeman’s wrists.  Horrocks, feeling himself freed, stepped quickly from the bush into the open, and faced about towards his liberator.  As he did so he found himself looking up into the muzzle of Retief’s revolver.  He stood his ground unflinchingly.

“Now, see hyar, pard,” said Retief, quietly, “I’ve a mighty fine respect for you.  You ain’t the cuckoo that many o’ yer mates is.  You’ve got grit, anyway.  But that ain’t all you need.  ‘Savee’s’ a mighty fine thing—­on occasions.  Now you need ‘Savee.’  I’ll jest give yer a piece of advice right hyar.  You go straight off down to Lablache’s ranch.  You’ll find him thar.  An’ pesky uncomfortable you’ll find him.  You ken set him free, also his ranch boys, an’ when you’ve done that jest make tracks for Stormy Cloud an’ don’t draw rein till you git thar.  Ef ever you see Retief on one trail, jest hit right off on to another.  That’s good sound sense right through fur you.  Say, work on that, an’ you ain’t like to