“Oh, let’s string ’im up!” urged Trinidad.

“Yes, come on, you . . .!” was Handsome’s ejaculation, contriving, at last, to get his hands on the faro dealer.

But again the Sheriff would have none of it.

“Hold on, hold on—­” he began and paused to philosophise:  “After all, gents, what’s death?  A kick and you’re off;” and then went on:  “I’ve thought of a worse punishment.  Give him his coat.”

Surprised and perplexed at this order, Handsome, reluctantly, assisted the culprit into his coat.

“Put him over there,” the Sheriff now ordered.

Whereupon, obedient to the instructions of that personage, The Sidney Duck was roughly put down into a chair; and while he was firmly held into it, Rance strolled nonchalantly over to the faro table and picked out a card from the deck there.  Returning, he quickly plucked a stick-pin from the prisoner’s scarf, saying, while he suited his action to his words: 

“See, now I place the deuce of spades over his heart as a warning.  He can’t leave the camp, and he never plays cyards again—­see?” And while the men, awed to silence, stood looking at one another, he instructed Handsome to pass the word through the camp.

“Ow, now, don’t si that!  Don’t si that!” bawled out the card sharp.

The sentence met with universal approval.  Rance waved an authoritative hand towards the door; and the incident, a few seconds later, passed into its place in the camp records.  Albeit, in those seconds, and while the men were engrossed in the agreeable task of ejecting The Sidney Duck, The Polka harboured another guest, no less unwelcome, who made his way unobserved through the saloon to become an unobtrusive spectator of the doings in the dance-hall.

IV.

In the space of six months one can do little or much harm.  The young bandit,—­for he had kept his oath to his father,—­flattered himself that he had done much.  In all the mining camps of the Sierras the mere mention of the name of Ramerrez brought forth execrations.  Not a stage started out with its precious golden freight without its passengers having misgivings that they would be held up before reaching Sacramento.  Messengers armed with shotguns were always to be found at their post beside the drivers; yet, despite all precautions, not a week passed without a report that the stage out of this or that camp, had been attacked and the passengers forced to surrender their money and valuables.  Under no circumstances, however, were any of Ramerrez’s own countrymen molested.  If, by any chance, the road agent made a mistake and stopped a party of native Californians or Mexicans, they were at once permitted to proceed on their way with the bandit-leader’s profuse apologies.