he effect of his words and pushed his pistol
almost to within arm's reach of the money-lender's face.

The half-breed's face suddenly became stem.

"That's a dandy ranch of yours down south. Me an' my pards 'ave taken a
notion to it. Say, you're comin' right along with us. Savee? Guess we'll
show you the slickest round up this side o' the border. Now jest sit
right thar while I let my mates in."

Retief took no chances. Lablache, under pistol compulsion, was forced to
remain motionless in his chair. The swarthy Breed backed cautiously to
the door until his hand rested upon the spring catch. This, with deft
fingers, he turned and then forced back, and the next moment he was
joined by two companions as dark as himself and likewise dressed in the
picturesque garb of the prairie "hustler." The money-lender, in spite of
his predicament, was keenly alert, and lost no detail of the new-comers'
appearance. He took a careful mental photograph of each of the men,
trusting that he might find the same useful in the future. He wondered
what the next move would be. He eyed the Breed's pistol furtively, and
thought of his own weapon lying on his desk at the corner farthest from
him. He knew there was no possible chance of reaching it. The slightest
unbidden move on his part would mean instant death. He understood, only
too well, how lightly human, life was held by these people. Implicit
obedience alone could save him. In those few thrilling moments he had
still time to realize the clever way in which both he and Horrocks had
been duped. He had never for a moment believed in Gautier's story, but
had still less dreamed of such a daring outrage as was now being
perpetrated. He had not long to wait for developments. Directly the two
men were inside, and the door was again closed, Retief pointed to the
money-lender.

"Hustle, boys--the rope. Lash his feet."

One of the men produced an old lariat In a trice the great man's feet
were fast.

"His hands?" said one of the men.

"Guess not. He's goin' to write, some."

Lablache instantly thought of his cheque-book. But Retief had no fancy
for what he considered was useless paper.

The hustler stepped over to the desk. His keen eyes spotted the
money-lender's pistol lying upon the far corner of it. He had also noted
his prisoner casting furtive glances in the direction of it. To prevent
any mischance he picked the gleaming weapon up and slipped it into his
hip pocket. After that he dre