“I remembered,” said the other with a groan, “remembered I was Trooper Shannon, an’ dropped the carbine into the wagon.  Courthorne wheels the black horse round, an’ I saw the red line across the face of him.”

“‘You’ll be sorry for this, my lad,’ says he.”

“He’s a dangerous man,” Payne said, thoughtfully.  “Pat, you came near being a ——­ ass that day.  Any way, it’s time we went in, and as Larry’s here I shouldn’t wonder if we saw Courthorne again before the morning.”

The icy cold went through them to the bone as they left the stables, and it was a relief to enter the loghouse which was heated to fustiness by the glowing stove.  A lamp hung from a rough birch beam, and its uncertain radiance showed motionless figures wrapped in blankets in the bunks round the walls.  Two men were, however, dressing, and one already in uniform sat at a table talking to another swathed in furs, who was from his appearance a prairie farmer.  The man at the table was lean and weather-bronzed, with grizzled hair and observant eyes.  They were fixed steadily upon the farmer, who knew that very little which happened upon the prairie escaped the vigilance of Sergeant Stimson.

“It’s straight talk you’re giving me, Larry?  What do you figure on making by it?” he said.

The farmer laughed mirthlessly, “Not much, any way, beyond the chance of getting a bullet in me back; or me best steer lifted one dark night, ’Tis not forgiving the rustlers are, and Courthorne’s the divil,” he said.  “But listen now, Sergeant, I’ve told ye where he is, and if ye’re not fit to corral him I’ll ride him down meself.”

Sergeant Stimson wrinkled his forehead.  “If anybody knows what they’re after, it should be you,” he said, watching the man out of the corner of his eyes.  “Still, I’m a little worried as to why, when you’ll get nothing for it, you’re anxious to serve the State.”

The farmer clenched a big hand.  “Sergeant, you that knows everything, will ye drive me mad—­an’ to ——­ with the State!” he said.  “Sure, it’s gospel I’m telling ye, an’, as you’re knowing well, it’s me could tell where the boys who ride at midnight drop many a keg.  Well, if ye will have your reason, it was Courthorne who put the black shame on me an’ mine.”

Sergeant Stimson nodded, for he had already suspected this.

“Then,” he said dryly, “we’ll give you a chance of helping us to put the handcuffs on him.  Now, because they wouldn’t risk the bridge, and the ice is not thick yet everywhere, there are just two ways they could bring the stuff across, and I figure we’d be near the thing if we fixed on Graham’s Pool.  Still, Courthorne’s no kind of fool, and just because that crossing seems the likeliest he might try the other one.  You’re ready for duty, Trooper Payne?”

The lad stood straight.  “I can turn out in ten minutes, sir,” he said.