wound itself cruelly round the
legs of the bully. The man gave a yell of rage and pain. He lunged
forward to close with Roberts, and met a driving left that caught him
between the eyes and flung him back. Before he could recover the Ranger
had him by the collar at arm's length and the torture of the whip was
maddening him. He cursed, struggled, raved, threatened, begged for
mercy. He tried to fling himself to the ground. He wept tears of agony.
But there was no escape from the deadly blacksnake that was cutting his
flesh to ribbons.

Roberts, sick at the thing he had been doing, flung the shrieking man
aside and leaned up against the wall of the store.

Jumbo came across to him and offered his friend a drink.

"You'll feel better if you take a swallow of old forty-rod," he
promised.

The younger man shook his head. "Much obliged, old-timer. I'm all right
now. It was a kind of sickenin' job, but I had to do it or kill him."

"What was it all about?" asked Jumbo eagerly. The fat line-rider was a
good deal of a gossip and loved to know the inside of every story.

Jack cast about for a reason. "He--he said I had red hair."

"Well, you old son of a mule-skinner, what's the matter with that? You
have, ain't you?" demanded the amazed Wilkins.

"Mebbe I have, but he can't tell me so."

That was all the satisfaction the public ever got. It did a good deal of
guessing, however, and none of it came near the truth.

[Footnote 5: To "take the hides off'n 'em" was the expressive
phraseology in which the buffalo-hunter described his business.]

CHAPTER XXV

"THEY'RE RUNNIN' ME OUTA TOWN"

Jumbo Wilkins came wheezing into the Sunset Trail corral, where Jack
Roberts was mending a broken bridle. "'Lo, Tex. Looks like you're
gittin' popular, son. Folks a-comin' in fifty miles for to have a little
talk with you."

The eyes of the Ranger grew intelligent. He knew Jumbo's habit of mind.
The big line-rider always made the most of any news he might have.

"Friends of mine?" asked Jack casually.

"Well, mebbe friends ain't just the word. Say acquaintances. You know
'em well enough to shoot at and to blacksnake 'em, but not well enough
to drink with."

"Did they _say_ they wanted to see me?"

"A nod is as good as a wink to a blind bronc. They said they'd come to
make you hard to find."

The Ranger hammered down a rivet carefully. "Many of 'em?"

"Two this trip. One of 'em used to think yore topknot was red. I dun