at he was thinking. The first
article of the creed of the frontier is to be game. Good or bad, the last
test of a man is the way he takes his medicine. So now young Flandrau ate
his dinner with a hearty appetite, smoked cigarettes impassively, and
occasionally chatted with his guards casually and as a matter of course.
Deep within him was a terrible feeling of sickness at the disaster that
had overwhelmed him, but he did not intend to play the quitter.

Dutch and an old fellow named Sweeney relieved the other watchers about
noon. The squat puncher came up and looked down angrily at the boy lying
on the bunk.

"I'll serve notice right now that if you make any breaks I'll fill your
carcass full of lead," he growled.

The prisoner knew that he was nursing a grudge for the blow that had
floored him. Not to be bluffed, Curly came back with a jeer. "Much
obliged, my sawed-off and hammered-down friend. But what's the matter with
your face? It looks some lopsided. Did a mule kick you?"

Sweeney gave his companion the laugh. "Better let him alone, Dutch. If he
lands on you again like he did before your beauty ce'tainly will be
spoiled complete."

The little puncher's eyes snapped rage. "You'll get yours pretty soon, Mr.
Curly Flandrau. The boys are fixin' to hang yore hide up to dry."

"Does look that way, doesn't it?" the boy agreed quietly.

As the day began to wear out it looked so more than ever. Two riders from
the Bar Double M reached the ranch and were brought in to identify him as
the horse thief. The two were Maloney and Kite Bonfils, neither of them
friends of the young rustler. The foreman in particular was a wet blanket
to his chances. The man's black eyes were the sort that never soften
toward the follies and mistakes of youth.

"You've got the right man all right," he said to Buck without answering
Flandrau's cool nod of recognition.

"What sort of a reputation has he got?" Buck asked, lowering his voice a
little.

Kite did not take the trouble to lower his. "Bad. Always been a tough
character. Friend of Bad Bill Cranston and Soapy Stone."

Dutch chipped in. "Shot up the Silver Dollar saloon onct. Pretty near beat
Pete Schiff's head off another time."

Curly laughed rather wildly. "That's right. Keep a-coming, boys. Your turn
now, Maloney."

"All right. Might as well have it all," Buck agreed.

"I don't know anything against the kid, barring that he's been a little
wild," Maloney testified. "And I