“Come,” said the Major, quietly, “un strap my ankles and I’ll walk up. “ We’ll never get there at this rate.” Tho Sheriff paused, wiped his grimy face with his grimier blouse, and stood looking at his prisoner. Then he said slowly: “Look yer! Wot’s your little game? Blessed if I kin follow suit.”

For the first time the Major burst into a rage. “ Blast it all! Don’t you see that if I’m discovered here, in this way, there’s not a man on the Bar who would believe that I walked into your trap, not a man, by God, who wouldn’t think it was a trick of yours and mine together ?” “ Or,” interrupted the Sheriff slowly, fixing his eyes on his prisoner, “ not a man who would ever trust Major Overstone for a leader again ?” “ Perhaps,” said tho Major, unmovedly again, “ I don’t think either of us would ever got a chance of being trusted again by anyone.” The Sheriff still kept his oyes fixed on his prisoner, his gloomy face growing darker under its grime. “ That ain’t tho reason, Major. Life and death don’t mean much more to you than they do to me in this yer game. I know that you’d kill me quicker non lightning if you got the chance; you know that I’m takin’ you to the gallows.” “The reason is that I want to leave Wynyards Bar,” said the Major, coolly; “ and even this way out of it will suit me.” The Sheriff took his revolver from his pocket and deliberately cocked it. Then, leaning down, he unbuckled the strap from the Major’s ankles. A wild hope that his incomprehensible captive might seize that moment to develop his real intern —that he might fly, fight, or in some way act up to his reckless reputation —sustained him for a moment, but in tho next proved futile. The Major only said, “ Thank you, Tom,” and stretched his cramped legs. “Get up and go on,” said tho Sheriff, roughly. The Major began to slowly ascend the hill, the Sheriff close on his heels, alert, tingling, and watchful of every movement. 