Jim Bowley plunged into his story with a directness and simplicity which did not fail to carry conviction.  He told all he knew without any attempt at shielding himself or his companions.  Horrocks and the old rancher listened carefully to the story.  Lablache looked for discrepancies but found none.  Jacky, whilst paying every attention, keenly watched the face of the money-lender.  The seriousness of the affair was reflected in all the faces present, whilst the daring of the raid was acknowledged by the upraised brows and wondering ejaculations which occasionally escaped the police-officer and “Poker” John.  When the narrative came to a close there followed an impressive pause.  Horrocks was the first to break it.

“And how did you obtain your release?”

“A Mennonite family, which had bin travelin’ all night, came along ’bout an hour after daylight.  They pitched camp nigh on to a quarter mile from the bluff w’ere we was tied up.  Then they came right along to look fur kindlin’.  There wasn’t no other bluff for half a mile but ours.  They found us all three.  Young Nat ’ad got ’is collar-bone broke.  Them ’ustlers ’adn’t lifted our ‘plugs’ so I jest came right in.”

“Have you seen these Mennonites?” asked the officer, turning sharply to the money-lender.

“Not yet,” was the heavy rejoinder.  “But they are coming in.”

The significance of the question and the reply nettled the cowboy.

“See hyar, mister, I ain’t no coyote come in to pitch yarns.  Wot I’ve said is gospel.  The man as ’eld us up was Peter Retief as sure as I’m a living man.  Sperrits don’t walk about the prairie ‘ustling cattle, an’ I guess ’is ’and was an a’mighty solid one, as my jaw felt when ’e gagged me.  You take it from me, ’e’s come around agin to make up fur lost time, an’ I guess ’e’s made a tidy haul to start with.”

“Well, we’ll allow that this man is the hustler you speak of,” went on Horrocks, bending his keen eyes severely on the unfortunate cowboy.  “Now, what about tracking the cattle?”

“Guess I didn’t wait fur that, but it’ll be easy ’nough.”

“Ah, and you didn’t recognize the man until you’d seen his horse?”

The officer spoke sharply, like a counsel cross-examining a witness.

“Wal, I can’t say like that,” said Jim, hesitating for the first time.  “His looks was familiar, I ’lows.  No, without knowing of it I’d recognized ’im, but ’is name didn’t come along till I see that beast, Golden Eagle.  I ’lows a good prairie hand don’t make no mistake over cattle like that.  ’E may misgive a face, but a beastie—­no, siree.”

“So you base your recognition of the man on the identity of his horse.  A doubtful assertion.”

“Thar ain’t no doubt in my mind, sergeant.  Ef you’ll ’ave it so, I did—­some.”

The officer turned to the other men.

“If there’s nothing more you want this man for, gentlemen, I have quite finished with him—­for the present.  With your permission,” pulling out his watch, “I’ll get him to take me to the er—­scene of disaster in an hour’s time.”