the renegade tightened a knot securing the boy's left leg to the leg
of the table, Muskoka's snoring abruptly ceased, and the sleeper moved
uneasily. In a flash Iowa was over him, pistol in hand. But the snoring
presently resumed, and after watching him sharply for a moment, Iowa
returned to the boy.

"Now move, remember, an' I shoot," he repeated warningly. "To make sure,
I'm going to fix up that snoring idiot over there before I finish you.
An' don't you as much as shuffle your hoof!" Recovering the bundle of
thongs, he strode back to the sleeper.

As previously the man's back had been turned Wilson had shot a frantic
glance about him. In their sweep his eyes had fallen on the partly open
drawer in the end of the table, immediately below his left hand, and in
the drawer had noted the bowl of a pipe. At the moment nothing had
resulted, but as the renegade's back was again turned his eyes again
dropped to the drawer, and a sudden wild possibility occurred to him.

His heart seemed literally to stand still at the audacity, the danger of
it. But might it not be possible? The light from the single lamp, on the
wall opposite, was poor, and his left side thus in deep shadow. And his
left hand--he tried it--yes, though tightly bound at the wrist, the hand
itself was free.

His first day at the station, the visit of the men from the ranch,
Muskoka's contemptuous greeting, recurred to him. Here was his
opportunity of vindication.

With a desperate clenching of the teeth the boy decided, and at once
began cautiously straining at the thongs about his wrist, to obtain the
reach necessary. Finally they slipped, slightly, but enough. Carefully he
leaned sideways, his fingers extended. He reached the pipe, fumbled a
moment, and secured it.

Burns was on his knees beside the unconscious guard, splicing a thong. An
instant Wilson hesitated, then springing erect, pointed the pipe-stem,
and in a voice he scarcely knew, a voice sharp as the crack of a whip,
cried:

"Hands up, Burns! I got you!

"_Quick! I'll shoot!_"

The renegade cowman, taken completely by surprise, leaped to his feet
with a cry, without turning, his hands instinctively half-raised.

"Quick! Up! _Up!_" cried the boy. A breathlessly critical instant the
hands wavered, then slowly, reluctantly, they ascended.

For a moment the young operator stood panting, but half believing the
witness of his own eyes to the success of the stratagem. Then at the top
of his