sed the two to look
one at the other, and the captain turned pale, staggered toward his
horse, and replied more cautiously: "I don't understand you, but there
is no use to argue the case. You must submit to an arrest, and that as
quickly as possible."

Wade knew that his remarks had made a telling blow, and that he now had
an equal advantage.

"I will not submit," he replied coolly, "and if you do not leave without
further request I shall have this entire country on to you in less time
than an hour--even before you could get three miles down the road."
Turning to Rover, Wade said, "Go home, quick, and give the alarm." The
good old, well-trained dog, seeming to understand, galloped off in the
direction indicated by Wade's pointing finger, while the officers looked
after him anxiously. The mark had been struck, however, and the
officers, thinking it a good time to depart, said, "We'll get you a
little later, old boy." With this they galloped off toward Guthrie.

The man whom Wade had defied was no other than the assistant officer who
accompanied the warehouse man out that fateful night when Fred Conover
was so wantonly murdered. Wade had recognized him, and used the
knowledge to his own good, and to save himself from the jail at that
time.

Thoughtfully Wade made his way slowly up the road toward Judson's home,
where he told of what had just happened.

"That," said Peter, "is the work of Al Thompson, shore. He's to the back
of it. Seein' as how he couldn't fetch us fair and square with a bullet,
he's made up his mind ter git us any way he kin. Apt's not, ef ther
truth was known, he shot Franklin in ther back hisself, so's ter say we
done it. Hit looks kinder like he was after you specially, Wade, cause
he hain't got no right ter know that ye were out last night unless he
seed ye or heerd ye a-talkin', or seed Tom's hoss, one t'other. Ef he
didn't, he's a-playin' a sneakin' game, that's what. Well, I see I
cain't git 'bout, fer awhile, on account o' this hyar finger bein' a
little sore, an' Tom, he's walkin' 'bout a little now, an' you an'
him'll hafter kinder keep things a-goin'--keep 'em warm till I git so I
kin shoot agin. Ye needn't be afeerd o' them officers a-comin' back
agin. They won't do that. Only 'cause ye air putty nigh a stranger hyar
that they ever tackled ye 'tall. Thay won't tackle a feller what knows,
that's shore. They're skeered o' their shadders, that's what they air."

Old Peter quit talking lon