tenant was
concerned. The troopers had then searched their prisoner and to them a
loaded money belt worn by a drifter did not make good sense, either--unless
too much sense on the wrong side of the ledger. Drearily Drew had to admit
that had he stood in the lieutenant's boots, he would have made exactly
the same decision and brought his prisoner back to the camp.

So here he was now--just where Bayliss had promised to see him--in an army
detention cell, with no proof of identity and the circumstantial evidence
against him piling up by the minute. All they needed was some definite
proof to tie him to Kitchell and he was lost. He had to pin his hopes on
Anse--and _Don_ Cazar.

Drew ground his boot heel into the dirt floor. That was just what he had
sworn he would never do--call upon Hunt Rennie for help. Especially now,
since the troopers had discovered those army-branded horses back in the
canyon and Bayliss would try to use that against Rennie. Anse's escape had
been a short-sighted solution, Drew knew. To the captain such action only
tied the Range in deeper. The Kentuckian ran his fingers through his hair,
trying to think of something which had _not_ gone wrong.

The plank door banged open and Drew's head came up with a snap. No use
letting these Yankees think they had him worried. The lantern, feeble as
it was, picked out the stripes on the blouse of the first man, the tin
plate in the hands of the second.

Drew looked down at the plate as it was slid under the bars and across the
floor of his cell.

"Stew, Sergeant? Ain't that overfeedin'? Thought bread and water was more
the captain's style for Reb prisoners." Drew was pleased that he was able
to sound unconcerned.

"Cocky one, ain't you?" asked the man who had brought in the plate. "All
you Rebs is alike--never know when you're licked--"

"Get along, Farley, that's enough," Muller broke in.

Drew picked up the plate and forced himself to spoon up its contents. The
stuff was still warm and not too bad. After the second spoonful he
discovered that he was hungry--that much he would not have to pretend.

"Kid!"

Sergeant Muller's bulk shut most of the lantern glow out of the cell.

"You young squirts're all alike--never take no advice. But I'm gonna give
it, anyway. When th' cap'n sees you, you button your lip! He ain't one as
takes kindly to no smart talkin', 'specially not from a prisoner. As far
as he's concerned he's got you about dead to rights--hoss