in't none of us hankering to know the
address. You're white and you're one of us and any time any guy wants to
charge you rent for that little hell where you got the furniture of your
conscience stored, why, you just let us settle with him, that's all. Now,
one more tune, Cookie."

Craig shook his head. He had turned away to where the kettle was hissing
on the range fire.

"It is time you had your food," he said.

Long Jim took up the violin and drew the bow across it. There was a chorus
of execrations. Craig snatched it from him. He suddenly turned his back
upon them all. He had played before as though to amuse himself. He played
now with the complete, almost passionate absorption of the artist. His
head was uplifted, his eyes half closed. He was no longer the menial, the
fugitive from justice. He was playing himself into another world, playing
amidst a silence which, considering his audience, was amazing. They
crouched across the table and watched him. Long Jim stood like a figure of
stone. The interruption which came was from outside.

"More of these damned tourists," Long Jim muttered. "Women, too!"

Craig had stopped playing. He turned his head slowly. Quest was in the act
of dismounting from his horse. By his side was the Professor; just behind,
Lenora and Laura. Long Jim greeted them with rough cordiality.

"Say, what are you folks looking for?" he demanded.

Quest pointed to Craig.

"We want that man," he announced. "This is Inspector French from New York.
I am Sanford Quest."

There was a tense silence. Craig covered his face with his hands, then
suddenly looked up.

"I won't come," he cried fiercely. "You've hounded me all round the world.
I am innocent. I won't come."

Quest shrugged his shoulders. He took a step forward, but Long Jim, as
though by accident, sauntered in the way.

"Got a warrant?" he asked tersely.

"We don't need it," Quest replied. "He's our man, right enough."

"Right this minute he's our cook," drawled Long Jim, "and we ain't exactly
particular about going hungry to please a bunch of strangers. Cut it
short, Mister. If you ain't got a warrant, you ain't got this man. Maybe
we don't sport finger-bowls and silk socks, but we're civilised enough not
to let no slim dude walk off with one of our boys without proper
authority. So you can just meander along back where you come from. Ain't
that right, boys?"

There was a sullen murmur of assent. Quest turned back and whispered f