“Gather up the other end of the rope, loop it, and tie his feet together,” the nester ordered, getting his sentence out in fragmentary jerks.

Phil did so, deftly and expertly, after which, in spite of renewed struggles, they tied the hands of their prisoner behind his back.

“Looks like a cyclone had hit the room,” said the boy, glancing at the debris.

Larrabie laughed.  “He’s the most willing mixer I ever saw.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“We’ll leave him tied right where he is.  When we get down into the settlement we’ll notify his friends, though I reckon they’ll find him without any help from us.”

In order to make sure they went over the knots again, tightening them here and there.  The revolver and the rifle of the bound man they appropriated.  The nester’s horse was in a little corral back of the house.  He saddled, and shortly the two were on the back trail.  Phil knew the country as a golfer knows his links.  To him Keller put the question in his mind: 

“How far is the Mimbres Pass from here, and in what direction?”

The younger man looked at him in surprise.  “A dozen miles, I reckon.  See that cleft over there?  That’s the Mimbres.”

His friend drew rein and looked with level eyes at him.

“Phil, it’s come to a show-down!  Are you for Brill Healy or are you for me?”

“I’m through with Brill.”

“Dead sure of that?”

“Dead sure.  Why?”

“Because you’ve got to make your choice to-night whether you’re going to stand with honest men or thieves.  Healy’s gang is rustling a bunch of cows gathered at the round-up.  They’re heading for Mimbres Pass.  I’m going to stop them if I can.”

“I’m with you, Larry.”

“Good!  I was sure of you, Phil.”

The boy flushed, but his eyes did not waver.  “I want to tell you something.  That day we most caught you over the dead cow of the C.O. outfit Brill was carrying Phyl’s knife.  I had lent it to him the night before.”

Keller nodded.  “I had figured it out that way.”

“But that ain’t all.  Once when I was cutting trail in the hills—­must have been about six months before that time—­I happened on Brill driving a calf still bleeding from the brand he had put on it.

“I didn’t think anything of that, but I noticed he was anxious to have me turn and join him.  But I kept on the way I was going, and just by a miracle my pony almost stumbled over a dead cow lying in the brush.  That set me thinking.  That night I rode over to Healy’s and asked an explanation.

“He had one ready.  Some one else must have killed the cow.  He found the calf wandering about alone, and branded it.  Somehow his story didn’t quite satisfy me, but I wasn’t ready then to think him a coyote.  I liked him—­always had.  And it flattered me that he had picked me out to be his best friend.  So I said nothing, and figured it out that he was on the square.  Of course I knew he was reckless and wild, but I didn’t like him any the less for that.  I reckon nobody ever accused him of not being game.”