h brush,
followed by the thudding of feet. Then men could be plainly heard
running up the trail. Jim leaned against the door-post, and the three
fellows before him stood rigid as stone.

Suddenly a form leaped past Jim. It was Dick Leslie, bareheaded, his
hair standing like a lion's mane, and he had a cocked rifle in his
hands. Close behind him came old Hiram Bent, slower, more cautious,
but no less formidable. As these men glanced around with fiery eyes the
quick look of relief that shot across their faces told of ungrounded
fears.

"Where's Buell?" sharply queried Dick.

Jim Williams did not reply, and a momentary silence ensued.

"Buell lit out after the Greaser," said Bill, finally.

"Cut and run, did he? That's his speed," grimly said Dick. "Here, Bent,
find some rope. We've got to tie up these jacks."

"Hands back, an' be graceful like. Quick!" sang out Jim Williams.

It seemed to me human beings could not have more eagerly and swiftly
obeyed an order. Herky and Bill and Bud jerked their arms down and
extended their hands out behind. After that quick action they again
turned into statues. There was a breathless suspense in every act. And
there was something about Jim Williams then that I did not like. I was
in a cold perspiration for fear one of the men would make some kind of
a move. As the very mention of the Texan had always caused a little
silence, so his presence changed the atmosphere of that cabin room.
Before his coming there had been the element of chance--a feeling of
danger, to be sure, but a healthy spirit of give and take. That had all
changed with Jim Williams's words "Hands up!" There was now something
terrible hanging in the balance. I had but to look at Jim's eyes, narrow
slits of blue fire, at the hard jaw and tight lips, to see a glimpse of
the man who thought nothing of life. It turned me sick, and I was all in
a tremor till Dick and Hiram had the men bound fast.

Then Jim dropped the long, blue guns into the holsters on his belt.

"Ken, I shore am glad to see you," said he.

The soft, drawling voice, the sleepy smile, the careless good-will all
came back, utterly transforming the man. This was the Jim Williams I had
come to love. With a wrench I recovered myself.

"Are you all right, Ken?" asked Dick. And old Hiram questioned me with
a worried look. This anxiety marked the difference between these men and
Williams. I hastened to assure my friends that I was none the worse for
my c