perated prisoner hissed at last.

If ever a look conveyed a lust for murder Lablache's lashless eyes
expressed it.

"Eh? What? Guess you ain't well." The icy tones mocked at the distraught
captive.

The money-lender checked his wrath and struggled to keep cool.

"My cattle are on the range. You could never have driven off twenty
thousand head. It would have been impossible without my hearing of it.
It is more than one night's work."

"That's so," replied the half-breed, smiling sardonically. "Say, your
hands and foreman are shut up in their shack. They've bin taking things
easy fur a day or two. Jest to give my boys a free hand. Guess we've
been at work here these three days."

The money-lender groaned inwardly. He understood the Breed's meaning
only too well. At last his bottled-up rage broke out again.

"Are you man or devil that you spirit away great herds like this.
Across the keg, I know, but how--how? Twenty thousand! My God, you'll
swing for this night's work," he went on impotently. "The whole
countryside will be after you. I am not the man to sit down quietly
under such handling. If I spend every cent I'm possessed of, you shall
be hounded down until you dare not show your face on this side of the
border."

"Easy, boss," the Breed retorted imperturbably. "Ef you want to see that
precious store o' yours again a civil tongue 'll help you best. I'm
mostly a patient man--easy goin'-like. Now jest keep calm an' I'll let
you see the fun. Now that's a neat shack o' yours," he went on, pointing
to the money-lender's mansion. "Wonder ef I could put a dose o' lead
into one o' the windows from here."

Lablache began to think he was dealing with a madman. He remained
silent, and the Breed leveled his pistol in the direction of the house
and fired. A moment's silence followed the sharp report. Then Retief
turned to his captive.

"Guess I didn't hear any glass smash. Likely I missed it," and he
chuckled fiendishly. Lablache sat gazing moodily at the building. Then
the half-breed's voice roused him. "Hello, wot's that?" He was pointing
at the house. "Why, some galoot's lightin' a bonfire! Say, that's
dangerous Lablache. They might fire your place."

But the other did not answer. His eyes were staring wide with horror. As
if in answer to the pistol-shot a fire had been lit against the side of
the house. It was no ordinary fire, either, but a great pile of hay. The
flames shot up with terrible swiftness, licking u