ty; I understand that. But there 's
something rotten in this affair somewhere. All I ask is a square deal."

"An' yer kin bet you'll git it, Mr. Winston, er Sam Hayes will find out
why. This yere 'Independence' outfit is no favorites o' mine, an' if
the whole difficulty turns out ter be nothin' but a minin' squabble,
the jury ain't likely ter be very hard on yer. That's my way o'
figgerin' on it, from what little I know." He glanced keenly about,
seeking to gain a clearer idea of their immediate surroundings. "Maybe
you an' Swanson better mosey back yonder to the cabin, where I can keep
an eye on you easy, while I send after the hosses. Farnham, climb back
on top of the dump there, an' give them boys the signal to come on."

The gambler removed his hat, running one hand carelessly through his
hair, his thin lips sufficiently parted to reveal his white teeth.

"I hardly think we are exactly done yet, Mr. Sheriff," he said
sarcastically. "I 'm not very much worried regarding your suddenly
expressed sympathy for this fellow, or your desire to get him off
unscratched; but I feel compelled to insist upon receiving all the law
allows me in this game we 're playing. There 's another warrant in
your pocket for Winston."

"By thunder, yes; I 'd clear forgot it," fumbling at his papers.

"Well, I had n't; matter of some personal importance to me," the voice
taking on a lazy, insolent drawl. "Of course, the fellow is under
arrest all right, but that murder business is only part of it--I want
my wife."

Winston started forward, crouching as though he would spring directly
at the other's throat.

"Your wife?" he exclaimed madly, his voice choking. "Your wife? You
've sworn out a warrant for me on account of your wife?"

"Something of that nature, I believe," gazing at him insolently.
"Abduction I think the lawyers call it, and I notice you 've got the
lady hidden away back yonder now." He pointed across the other's
shoulder. "Caught with the goods. Oh, you 're a fine preacher of
morals, but I 've got you dead to rights this time."

Winston stood as though carven from stone, his face deathly white, his
lips compressed, his gray eyes burning, never wavering from that
mocking face. With all his strength of will he battled back the first
mad impulse to throttle the man, to crush him into shapeless pulp. For
one awful moment his mind became a chaos, his blood throbbing fire. To
kill would be joy, a relief inex