ff," and the man tightened his grips on
Thure's and Bud's collars. "Hands off. They are my prisoners now," and
he turned a bit impatiently to the men, whose hands still had hold of
the boys. "Well, what have they done?"

"Murder!" "Murder!" yelled a dozen voices from the crowd.

"Why, they are little more than boys!" and the sheriff turned his eyes
in astonished horror on Thure and Bud. "Who accuses them?"

"Me an' my pard do," and the big red-headed man with a broken nose, who
had let go of Thure the moment the sheriff had him safely by the collar,
stepped up in front of Turner. "We accuses them of murderin' an' robbin'
John Stackpole, an old miner, who was on his way tew San Francisco from
th' diggin's; an' what's more, we saw 'em do it with our own eyes; an'
are ready tew swear tew th' same afore any judge an' jury. Ain't we
Spike?" and he turned to a small man, with a pockmarked face, who was
standing close to Bud.

"True as preachin'," declared the small man. "With my own eyes I saw 'em
knock th' miner off his hoss with their guns, an' then jump on him, an'
run a knife through his heart, an' jerk off his gold-belt, an'--"

"You lie!" and the hard fist of Bud's sturdy right arm landed squarely
on the chin of the man, with such force that he was knocked backward,
senseless, into the arms of a man standing behind him. "You and
Brokennose killed him yourselves. We--"

"Shut up!" and the sheriff whirled Bud violently around in front of him.
"Now, young man, another move like that and I will put you in irons.
Here, Dave," and he turned to a roughly dressed miner standing near,
"just pull their teeth, while I hold them. They're beginning to look
some rambunctuous."

And, indeed, Thure and Bud did look "rambunctuous"; for by now both boys
were beginning to get an inkling of the game that was being played on
them by the two scoundrels. But, what could they do? Everything had
happened so suddenly and unexpectedly, that they were in the hands of
the sheriff before either of them had recovered his wits sufficiently to
even open his mouth in protest or defense.

"Quiet, quiet," cautioned the roughly dressed miner, whom the sheriff
had summoned to his aid, in a low voice, as he swiftly pulled the boys'
knives and pistols from their belts. "Don't let your tempers git tew
buckin'. You're a sight better off in th' hands of th' sheriff, who will
see that you git a fair trial, than you would be in the hands of the
mob, who s