was Thursday afternoon," said one of the captors. "There was a
shower."

"Yes. It rained. We had you fooled that time. I was laying on the ledge
above to report your movements."

Several of them laughed. "We thought you were over on Spread Creek
then."

"I figured you thought so by the trail you left after the stack.
Saturday we watched you turn your back on us up Spread Creek. We were
snug among the trees the other side of Snake River. That was another
time we had you fooled."

They laughed again at their own expense. I have heard men pick to pieces
a hand of whist with more antagonism.

Steve continued: "Would we head for Idaho? Would we swing back over the
Divide? You didn't know which! And when we generalled you on to that
band of horses you thought was the band you were hunting--ah, we were a
strong combination!" He broke off with the first touch of bitterness I
had felt in his words.

"Nothing is any stronger than its weakest point." It was the Virginian
who said this, and it was the first word he had spoken.

"Naturally," said Steve. His tone in addressing the Virginian was so
different, so curt, that I supposed he took the weakest point to
mean himself. But the others now showed me that I was wrong in this
explanation.

"That's so," one said. "Its weakest point is where a rope or a gang of
men is going to break when the strain comes. And you was linked with a
poor partner, Steve."

"You're right I was," said the prisoner, back in his easy, casual voice.

"You ought to have got yourself separated from him, Steve."

There was a pause. "Yes," said the prisoner, moodily. "I'm sitting here
because one of us blundered." He cursed the blunderer. "Lighting his
fool fire queered the whole deal," he added. As he again heavily cursed
the blunderer, the others murmured to each other various I told you
so's.

"You'd never have built that fire, Steve," said one.

"I said that when we spied the smoke," said another. "I said, 'That's
none of Steve's work, lighting fires and revealing to us their
whereabouts.'"

It struck me that they were plying Steve with compliments.

"Pretty hard to have the fool get away and you get caught," a third
suggested. At this they seemed to wait. I felt something curious in all
this last talk.

"Oh, did he get away?" said the prisoner, then.

Again they waited; and a new voice spoke huskily:-- "I built that fire,
boys." It was the prisoner in the gray flannel shirt.

"Too l