guns on,
why don't you shoot?"

"You'd kill me 'fore I c'd draw," whined the man.

"You've got me--exact. Stand on your feet--it's too far to reach when I
want to hit you again." The man got to his feet and stood cowering
before the Texan.

"Now you answer me--an' answer me straight. Every time you lie I'm goin'
to knock you down--an' every time you drop, I'm goin' to kick you up
again. Where's that girl?"

"Purdy's got her."

"Where?"

"Over--over to the hang-out."

"What hang-out?"

"Cass Grimshaw's--" Again the Texan's fist shot out, again Long Bill
crumpled upon the floor of the coulee, and again the Texan kicked him
to his feet, where he stood shrinking against the cutbank with his hands
pressed to his face. He was blubbering openly, the sound issuing from
between the crushed lips in a low-pitched, moaning tremolo--a disgusting
sound, coming from a full-grown man--like the pule of a brainless thing.

The Texan shook him, roughly: "Shut up! Where's Purdy? I know Cass
Grimshaw. Don't try to tell me he's into any such dirty work as this."

"Purdy's in Grimshaw's gang," yammered the man, "Grimshaw ain't in on
it--only Purdy. If she ain't in the hang-out, I don't know where she's
at. Purdy wouldn't tell me. He'd be afraid I'd double-cross him."

"What's he goin' to do with her?"

"Git the reward."

"An', you're in on it? You're the go-between?"

The man shrank still farther back against the wall: "Yes."

"When are you goin' to collect it?"

"Yeste'day a week----"

Once more the Texan's fist drew back, but the man grovelled against the
dirt wall, holding his hands weakly before his battered face: "Not agin!
Not agin! Fer Gawd's sakes! I kin prove it! Here's the paper! Kill me
when you read it--but fer Gawd's sakes don't hit me no more!" Fumbling
in his shirt pocket, he drew out the note Purdy had written and signed
with the Texan's name. Carefully Tex read it and thrust it into his
pocket.

"Where's Grimshaw's hang-out?" he asked, in a voice of deadly quiet.

"It's in a coulee--ten miles from here. A coulee with rock sides, an' a
rock floor. A deep coulee. Ride straight fer Pinnacle Butte an' you'll
come to it. It's up the coulee, in a cave."

The Texan nodded: "All right. You can go now. But, remember, if you've
lied to me, I'll hunt you down. I ought to kill you anyway--for this."
He tapped the pocket where he had placed the note.

"Purdy writ it--I can't write. I ain't lyin'. It's there--t