do the same by your folks, Phyl?" He was almost ready to cry.

The girl turned her head aside, and spoke in a low voice to Keller. She
was greatly angered and disgusted at Tom; but she had been his friend,
and on this occasion there had been some justification for him in the
wrong the cattleman had done his family.

"Do you have to report him and have him prosecuted?"

"I'm paid to stop the rustling that has been going on," answered Keller,
in the same undertone.

"He won't do it again. He has had his scare. It will last him a
lifetime." Even while she promised it for him, it was not without
contempt for the poor-spirited craven who could be so easily driven from
his evil ways. If a man must do wrong, let it be boldly--as Buck Weaver
did it.

"Yes, but his pals haven't had theirs."

"But you don't know them."

"I can guess one man in it with him. We've got to root the thing out."

"Why not serve warning on him by Tom? Then they would both clear out."

Dixon divined that she was pleading for him, and edged in another word
for himself. "Whatever wrong I've done I've been driven to. There's been
an older man to lead me into it, too."

"You mean Red Hughes?" Keller said sharply.

Tom hesitated. He had not got to the point of betraying his accomplice.
"I ain't saying who I mean. Nor, for that matter, I ain't admitting I've
done any particular wrong--no more than other young fellows."

Keller brought him sharply to time. "You've used your last wet blanket.
I've got the evidence that will put you behind the bars. Miss Phyllis
wants me to let you off. I can't do it unless you make a clean breast of
it. You'll either come through with what I want to know, and do as I
say, or you'll have to stand the gaff."

"What do you want to know?"

"How many pals had you in this rustling?"

"You said you would use against me anything I said."

"I say now I'll use it _for_ you if you tell the truth and meet my
conditions."

"What are your conditions?"

"Never mind. You'll learn them later. Answer my question. How many?"

"One"--very sullenly.

"Red Hughes?"

"That's the one thing I can't tell you," the lad cried. "Don't you see I
can't?"

"It's the one thing I don't need to know. I've got Red cinched about as
tight as you, my boy. How long has this been going on?"

The information came from Dixon as reluctantly as a tight cork comes
from a bottle. "Nearly a year."

Sharp, incisive questions followed, one after a