let you
alone."

"Vell, ged up."

"You won't hit me when I do so?"

"Nod if you don'd tried some funny pusiness."

Buckhorn struggled to his feet, keeping a suspicious eye on Solomon all
the while. He then picked up his revolver, but made no offer to use it,
for the Jew was watching every movement, and he noted that Solomon had
one hand in his pocket.

"A critter thet knows tricks like he does, might be able ter shoot
'thout drawin'," muttered the man from 'Rapahoe. "I don't allow it'd be
healthy ter try a snap shot at him."

A roar of laughter broke from the spectators, as they saw the ruffian
put the revolver back into its holster, and turn away, like a whipped
puppy.

"Hayar, you mighty chief from 'Rapahoe," shouted a voice, "do yer find
this yar town so dead slow as yer did? Don't yer 'low yer'd best go back
ter 'Rapahoe, an' stay thar? Next time, we'll set ther dude tenderfoot
on yer, an' he'll everlastin'ly chaw yer up!"

"How low hev ther mighty fallen!" murmured Buckhorn, as he continued to
walk away.

CHAPTER VII.

IN JAIL.

Great was the disgust of the crowd when it was found that Hank Kildare
had taken his prisoner to jail without passing along the main street of
the town. It was declared a mean trick on Hank's part, and some excited
fellows were for resenting it by breaking into the jail at once and
bringing the boy out and "hangin' him up whar everybody could see him."

The ones who made this kind of talk had been "looking on the bug-juice
when it was red," and they finally contented themselves by growling and
taking another look.

In the meantime, Frank found himself confined in a cell, and he began to
realize that he was in a very bad scrape.

Throughout all the excitement at the railroad station, he had remained
cool and collected, but now, when he came to think the matter over, his
anger rose swiftly, and he felt that the whole business was most
outrageous.

Still, when he remembered everything, he did not wonder that the mob had
longed to lynch him.

Black Harry was a youthful desperado of the worst sort. He had
devastated, plundered, robbed, and murdered in a most infamous manner,
his last act being the shooting of Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker.

And Lona Dawson, the banker's daughter, had looked straight into our
hero's face and declared that he was Black Harry!

"It is a horrible mistake!" cried Frank, as he paced the cell into which
he had been thrust. "She bel