. Cullison rose noiselessly in his chair. If it came to the worst
he meant to shout aloud his presence and close with this fellow. Hampered
as he was by the table, the man would get him without question. But if he
could only sink his fingers into that hairy throat while there was still
life in him he could promise that the Mexican trip would never take
place.

Blackwell, from his place by the door, could keep an eye both on his
prisoner and on a point of the trail far below where horsemen must pass to
reach the cabin.

"Sit down," he ordered.

Cullison's eyes were like finely-tempered steel. "I'd rather stand."

"By God, if you move from there----" The man did not finish his sentence,
but the rifle was already half lifted. More words would have been
superfluous.

A rider came into sight and entered the mouth of the canyon. He was waving
a white handkerchief. The man in the doorway answered the signal.

"Not your friends this time, Mr. Sheriff," Blackwell jeered.

"I get a stay of execution, do I?" The cool drawling voice of the
cattleman showed nothing of the tense feeling within.

He resumed his seat and the reading of the newspaper. Presently, to the
man that came over the threshold he spoke with a casual nod.

"Morning, Cass."

Fendrick mumbled a surly answer. The manner of ironical comradeship his
captive chose to employ was more than an annoyance. To serve his ends it
was necessary to put the fear of death into this man's heart, which was a
thing he had found impossible to do. His foe would deride him, joke with
him, discuss politics with him, play cards with him, do anything but fear
him. In the meantime the logic of circumstances was driving the sheepman
into a corner. He had on impulse made the owner of the Circle C his
prisoner. Seeing him lie there unconscious on the floor of the Jack of
Hearts, it had come to him in a flash that he might hold him and force a
relinquishment of the Del Oro claim. His disappearance would explain
itself if the rumor spread that he was the W. & S. express robber. Cass
had done it to save himself from the ruin of his business, but already he
had regretted it fifty times. Threats could not move Luck in the least. He
was as hard as iron.

So the sheepman found himself between the upper and the nether millstones.
He could not drive his prisoner to terms and he dared not release him. For
if Cullison went away unpledged he would surely send him to the
penitentiary. Nor coul