; you can bluster, and threaten a
tenderfoot when you think he fears you; you can attack a man with a
loaded quirt when you think him unable to defend himself;--show me what
you can do _now_."

The Tailholt Mountain man drew back another step.

Patches continued his remarks. "You are a healthy specimen, you are. You
have the frame of a bull with the spirit of a coyote and the courage of
a sucking dove. Now--in your own vernacular--get a-goin'. Vamoose! Get
out! I want to talk to your superior over there."

Sullenly Nick Cambert mounted his horse and turned away toward one of
the trails leading out from the little arena.

"Come along, Joe!" he called to his follower.

"No, you don't," Patches cut in with decisive force. "Joe, stay where
you are!"

Nick paused. "What do you mean by that?" he growled.

"I mean," returned Patches, "that Joe is free to go with you, or not, as
he chooses. Joe," he continued, addressing the cause of the controversy,
"you need not go with this man. If you wish, you can come with me. I'll
take care of you; and I'll give you a chance to make a man of yourself."

Nick laughed coarsely. "So, that's your game, is it? Well, it won't
work. I know now why Bill Baldwin's got you hangin' 'round, pretendin'
you're a tenderfoot, you damned spy. Come on, Joe." He turned to ride
on; and Joe, with a slinking, sidewise look at Patches, started to
follow.

Again Patches called, "Wait, Joe!" and his voice was almost pleading.
"Can't you understand, Joe? Come with me. Don't be a dog for any man.
Let me give you a chance. Be a man, Joe--for God's sake, be a man! Come
with me."

"Well," growled Nick to his follower, as Patches finished, "are you
comin' or have I got to go and get you?"

With a sickening, hangdog look Joe mumbled something and rode after his
master.

As they disappeared up the trail, Nick called back, "I'll get you yet,
you sneakin' spy."

"Not after you've had time to think it over," answered Patches
cheerfully. "It would interfere too much with your _real_ business. I'll
leave your gun at the gate of that old corral up the wash. Good-by,
Joe!"

For a few moments longer the strange man stood in the glade, listening
to the vanishing sounds of their going, while that mirthless,
self-mocking smile curved his lips.

"Poor devil!" he muttered sadly, as he turned at last to make his way
back to his horse. "Poor Joe! I know just how he feels. It's hard--it's
beastly hard to break away