of foolscap and put the other through his statement,
taking down the details in a concise, business-like way. The only thing
on which Rawson seemed hazy was the exact date. He had no call to
bother about that sort of thing up-country, he explained apologetically,
in fact he hardly knew one day of the week from another, so completely
had he got out of the way of reckoning by time.

This done, Rawson shuffled a little uneasily, then said:

"All my things were looted, Mr Warren. I'm a beggar as I stand here,
so help me. Couldn't you let us have something to start me afresh?"

"Not a rix-dollar."

"You're a hard 'un to serve," grunted Rawson.

"You'll find me a harder one still if you don't watch it. I've no
further use for you that I know of, but there's one Jonathan Baldock
that certain judicial authorities in this colony might turn to a very
unpleasant use--for Jonathan Baldock. So mind your way about,
especially where I am concerned."

The cowed look upon the ruffianly countenance gave way to the ferocity
of desperation. Warren had goaded this savage beast to a point past
endurance. As Fleetwood had said, Bully Rawson's pluck was beyond
question, but even it paled before the vision of a beam and a swinging
noose. Now, beside himself with fear and rage, he turned on Warren, and
reviled him with epithets that we cannot reproduce here. The whole
aspect of the man was rather terrific, especially to one who knew his
character and repute. But Warren sat calmly through the outburst,
turning over a paper here and there.

"Now that you've done you may go--and be hanged," he said at last, when
the other had stopped exhausted.

"Yes, but I'll be hanged for something, hell take me if I don't," he
roared. "I'll send you there first, you blasted, snivelling,
white-livered liar."

Warren found himself gazing at the muzzle of a wicked-looking
six-shooter, and that in the hand of a desperate and exasperated
ruffian. But he did not move, nor did his face change colour in the
slightest degree.

"Put up that thing," he said, coolly. "And stop kicking up that
infernal row, unless you want everyone else to know what no one knows at
present but me."

The hard, cold eyes of the lawyer held the savage, bloodshot ones of the
border desperado, and triumphed.

"I'm sorry, Mr Warren," said the latter, shamefacedly, replacing the
weapon in his pocket. "My temper's a bit short these days. I sort of
forgot myself."