"Drop it!" yelled Alfred.

So he dropped it, and lay like a rabbit in its form.

"Jest select that thar six-shooter by the end of the bar'l and hurl her
from you some," advised the sheriff. "Now the Win_ches_ter. Now stand up
an' let's look at you." The man obeyed. "Yo' don't really need that
other gun, under th' circumstances," pursued the little man. "No, don't
fetch her loose from the holster none; jest unbuckle th' whole outfit,
belt and all. Good! Now, you freeze, and stay froze right whar you are."

So Alfred arose and scrambled down to the bottom.

"Good-mornin'," he observed, pleasantly.

He cast about him and discovered the man's lariat, which he picked up
and overran with one hand until he had loosened the noose.

"You-all are some sizable," he remarked, in conversational tones, "an'
like enough you eats me up, if I gets clost enough to tie you. Hands
up!"

With a deft twist and flip he tossed the open noose over his prisoner's
upheld wrists and jerked it tight.

"Thar you be," he observed, laying aside his rifle.

He loosened one of his revolvers suggestively and approached to tie the
knot.

"Swing her down," he commanded. He contemplated the result. "Don't like
that nohow--tied in front. Step through your hands a whole lot." The man
hesitated. "Step, I say!" said Alfred, sharply, at the same time
pricking the prisoner with his long knife.

The other contorted and twisted awkwardly, but finally managed to thrust
first one foot, then the other, between his shackled wrists. Alfred
bound together his elbows at the back.

"You'll do," he approved, cheerfully. "Now, we sees about grub."

Two flat stones placed a few inches apart improvised a stove when fire
thrust its tongue from the crevice, and a frying-pan and tin-cup laid
across the opening cooked the outlaw's provisions. Alfred hospitably
ladled some bacon and coffee into their former owner.

"Not that I needs to," he observed, "but I'm jest that tender-hearted."

At the close of the meal, Alfred instituted a short and successful
search for the plunder, which he found in the stranger's saddle-bag,
open and unashamed.

"Yo're sure a tenderfoot at this game, stranger," commented the sheriff.
"Thar is plenty abundance of spots to cache such plunder--like the
linin' of yore saddle, or a holler horn. Has you any choice of cayuses
for ridin'?" indicating the grazing ponies.

The man shook his head. He had maintained a lowering silence throughou