"There ain't no danger, but we won't take no chances
this time; we've got a precious coachful."

"All right," replied Charley as he wheeled toward the disappearing stage.
"So long, Sheriff."

The sheriff looked the wall over and then picked out a comparatively easy
place and climbed to the top. As he drew himself over the edge he espied
a pair of boots which showed from under a pile of debris, and he laughed
heartily. At the laugh the feet began to kick vigorously, so affecting
the sheriff that he had to stop a minute, for it was the most ludicrous
sight he had ever looked upon.

Shields grabbed the boots and pulled, walking backward, and soon an
enraged and trussed cow-puncher came into view. Slowly and carefully
unrolling the rope from the unfortunate man, he coiled it methodically
and slung it over his shoulder, and then assisted in loosening the gag.

The puncher was too stiff to rise and his liberator helped him to his
feet and slapped and rubbed and chuckled and rubbed to start the blood in
circulation. The gag had so affected the muscles of the puncher's jaw
that his mouth would not close without assistance and effort, and his
words were not at all clear for that reason. His first word was a curse.

"'Ell!" he cried as he stamped and swung his arms. "'Ell! I'm asleep all
o'er! ----! 'Ait till I get 'im! ----! 'Ait till I get 'im!"

"Sort of continuing the little nap you was taking when he roped you, eh?"
asked Shields, holding his sides.

"Nap nothing! Nap nothing!" yelled the other in profane denial. "I wasn't
asleep, I tell yu! I was wide awake! He got th' drop on me, and then that
cussed rope of his'n was everywhere! Th' air was plumb full of rope and
guns! I didn't have no show! Not a bit of a show! Oh, just wait till I
get him! Why, I heard my pardners talking as they hunted for me, and there
I was not twenty feet away from them all the time, helpless! They're
fine lookers, they are! Wait till I sees them, too! I'll tell 'em a few
things, all right!"

"Well, I reckon you may see one or two of them, if they're lucky--and you
can't beat a fool for luck," replied the sheriff. "They want to be angels;
they're on his trail now."

"Hope they get him!" yelled the puncher, dancing with rage. "Hope they
burn him at th' stake! Hope they scalp him, an' hash him, an' saw his arms
off, an' cave his roof in! Hope they make him eat his fingers and toes!
Hope----"

"You're some hopeful to-day," responded the she