that seemed keyed for a fleer,
although it was most graciously modulated now. "Ye mought hev shot us
fur revenuers."

"I mought hev shot ye fur wuss," Con Hite growled, rising slowly from
his chair, his big dark eyes betokening his displeasure. "I dunno how
_ye_ ever kem ter know this place."

"It'll go no furder, Con, I'll swear," said the horse-thief, lifting
his hand to Hite's shoulder, and affecting to see in his words an
appeal for secrecy. "This," he added blandly, "is Mr. Persimmon Sneed,
ez hev been a-visitin' me. Lemme make ye acquainted."

He seemed to perceive nothing incongruous in the fact that Mr.
Persimmon Sneed should be blindfolded. But as Con Hite looked at the
elder man, standing helpless, his head held slightly forward, the
sight apparently struck his risibilities, and his wonted geniality
rose to the occasion.

"An' do Mr. Persimmon Sneed always wear blinders?" he asked, with a
guffaw.

Peters seemed immeasurably relieved by the change of tone.

"Whilst visitin' me, he do," he remarked. "Mr. Persimmon hev got sech
a fine mem'ry fur localities, ye see."

Hite with a single gesture pulled off the bandage. "Waal, let him look
about him hyar. I s'pose ye hev ter be more partic'lar 'n me 'count o'
that stranger man's horse."

Peters changed countenance, his attention riveted. "What horse?" he
demanded.

"The horse of the man ez war kilt,--ye know folks hev laid that job
ter you-uns. Jerry," turning aside to his colleague, who had done
naught but stare, "whar's yer manners? Why n't ye gin the comp'ny a
drink?"

Hite shoved the chair in which he had been seated to Persimmon Sneed,
who was lugubriously rubbing his eyes, and flung himself down on a
boulder lying almost outside of the recess in the moonlight, his long
booted and spurred legs stretching far across the entrance. His hat on
the back of his head, its brim upturned, revealed his bluff open
face--it held no craft surely; he hardly seemed to notice how
insistently Peters pressed after him, unmindful of his henchmen and
Jerry imbibing appreciatively the product of the cheerful little
copper still.

"But I never done sech ez that," protested Peters. "I always stop
short o' bloodshed. I never viewed the man's beastis, ye'll bear me
witness, Con."

"Me?" said Con, with a laugh. "I dunno nuthin' 'bout yer doin's.
Whar's Mr. Sneed's horse?"

"Never seen him,--never laid eyes on him! How folks kin hev the heart
ter 'cuse me of sech doin