Lord, must I?" she asked; then, hanging back no longer, she
suddenly flung herself into his arms with the cry: "Oh, come along!"

Promptly Johnson put his arm around the Girl's waist, and breaking into
a polka he swung her off to the dance-hall where their appearance was
greeted with a succession of wild whoops from the men there, as well as
from the hilarious boys, who had rushed pell-mell after them.

Left to himself and in a rage Rance began to pace the floor.

"Cleaned out--cleaned out for fair by a high-toned, fine-haired dog
named Johnson! Well, I'll be--" The sentence was never finished, his
attention being caught and held by something which Nick was carrying in
from the dance-hall.

"What's that?" he demanded brusquely.

Nick's eyes were twinkling when he answered:

"Johnson's saddle."

Rance could control himself no longer; with a sweep of his long arm he
knocked the saddle out of the other's hand, saying:

"Nick, I've a great notion to walk out of this door and never step my
foot in here again."

Nick did not answer at once. While he did not especially care for Rance
he did not propose to let his patronage, which was not inconsiderable,
go elsewhere without making an effort to hold it. Therefore, he thought
a moment before picking up the saddle and placing it in the corner of
the room.

"Aw, what you givin' us, Rance! She's only a-kiddin' 'im," at last he
said consolingly.

The Sheriff was about to question this when a loud cry from outside
arrested him.

"What's that?" he asked with his eyes upon the door.

"Why that's--that's Ashby's voice," the barkeeper informed him; and
going to the door, followed by Rance, as well as the men who, on hearing
the cry, had rushed in from the dance-hall, he opened it, and they heard
again the voice that they all recognised now as that of the Wells Fargo
Agent.

"Come on!" he was saying gruffly.

"What the deuce is up?" inquired Trinidad simultaneously with the
Deputy's cry of "Bring him in!" And almost instantly the Deputy,
followed by Ashby and others, entered, dragging along with him the
unfortunate Jose Castro. The rough handling that he had received had not
improved his appearance. His clothing, half Mexican, the rest of odds
and ends, had been torn in several places. He looked oily, greasy and
unwashed, while the eyes that looked around in affright had lost none of
their habitual trickiness and sullenness.

And precisely as Castro appeared wholly di