“An’ that’s none of yore business, neither; but I’ll tell you, just the same,” replied the thief.  “I had to have it; that’s why.  I’ll fight you rough-an’-tumble to see if I keep it, or if you take the cayuse an’ shoot me besides:  is it a go?”

Hopalong stared at him and then a grin struggled for life, got it, and spread slowly over his tanned countenance.  “Yore gall is refreshing!  Damned if it ain’t worse than the scarf.  Here, you tell me what made you take a chance like stealing a cayuse this noon—­I’m getting to like you, bad as you are, hanged if I ain’t!”

“Oh, what’s the use?” demanded the other, tears again coming into his eyes.  “You’ll think I’m lying an’ trying to crawl out—­an’ I won’t do neither.”

“I didn’t say you was a liar,” replied Hopalong.  “It was the other way about.  Reckon you can try me, anyhow; can’t you?”

“Yes; I s’pose so,” responded the other, slowly, and in a milder tone of voice.  “An’ when I called you that I was mad and desperate.  I was hasty—­you see, my wife’s dying, or dead, over in Winchester.  I was riding hard to get to her before it was too late when my cayuse stepped into a hole just the other side of Grant—­you know what happened.  I shot the animal, stripped off my saddle an’ hoofed it to town, an’ dropped into that gospel dealer’s layout to see if he could make me feel any better—­which he could not.  I just couldn’t stand his palaver about death an’ slipped out.  I was going to lay for you an’ lick you for the way you acted about this scarf—­had to do something or go loco.  But when I got outside there was yore cayuse, all saddled an’ ready to go.  I just up an’ threw my saddle on it, followed suit with myself an’ was ten miles out of town before I realized just what I’d done.  But the realizing part of it didn’t make no difference to me—­I’d ‘a’ done it just the same if I had stopped to think it over.  That’s flat, an’ straight.  I’ve got to get to that li’l woman as quick as I can, an’ I’d steal all the cayuses in the whole damned country if they’d do me any good.  That’s all of it—­take it or leave it.  I put it up to you.  That’s yore cayuse, but you ain’t going to get it without fighting me for it!  If you shoot me down without giving me a chance, all right!  I’ll cut a throat for that wore-out bronc!”

Hopalong was buried in thought and came to himself just in time to cover the other and stop him not six feet away.  “Just a minute, before you make me shoot you!  I want to think about it.”

“Damn that gun!” swore the fugitive, nervously shifting his feet and preparing to spring.  “We’d ‘a’ been fighting by this time if it wasn’t for that!”

“You stand still or I’ll blow you apart,” retorted Hopalong, grimly.  “A man’s got a right to think, ain’t he?  An’ if I had somebody here to mind these guns so you couldn’t sneak ’em on me I’d fight you so blamed quick that you’d be licked before you knew you was at it.  But we ain’t going to fight—­stand still!  You ain’t got no show at all when yo’re dead!”