AN UNEXPECTED TURN.

Motor Matt was never more at sea than he was at that moment. What could he, and McGlory, and Ping do against six armed cowboys who, because of their hostility, would not listen to reason?

Jed Spearman and his companions could do exactly as they pleased. They could take the law into their own hands, so far as Newt Prebbles was concerned, and delay his departure for Fort Totten; and, in reckless defiance of what Matt said, they could release Murgatroyd.

Ping, so far from being a factor of strength in the slender force to be mustered against the cowboys, was a decided element of weakness. He was afraid he was going to lose his queue, and the fear had made him almost daft.

"Slim," called Spearman, tilting back in his chair and fanning himself with his hat, "jest count the dinero in that bag an' see how much it foots up."

Slim slouched over to the table, Matt, meanwhile, standing guard between him and Murgatroyd.

With elaborate ease, Slim dumped the contents of the pouch on the table and proceeded to count the gold pieces.

"Why, Jed," he called, "I'm blamed if it ain't all here, an' a dollar more'n what we lost."

"Keep the dollar fer int'rest, Slim," said Spearman generously. "Tell me, Hen," he proceeded, "what we're goin' ter do to the low-down tinhorn who run in them fancy tricks on us at the bunk house?"

"Hang 'im," replied Hen promptly.

"Oh, ye're altogether too desp'rit. Somethin' lighter'n that. What say, Slim?"

"Waal," replied Slim, "I'd suggest runnin' him out o' the kentry, Jed. We ain't got no room, in these parts, fer a robber like what this feller is. The law kain't tech him, ye know."

"Hev we got ter waste our vallyble time pusson'ly conductin' sich a missable galoot across the border?" asked Spearman.

"Thar's a hoss among the cottonwoods, Jed. Let's tie the tinhorn ter his back, take off the hoss' bridle, an' then chase the critter fer a ways. That 'u'd do the trick."

"Gentlemen," came the imploring voice of Murgatroyd, "that animal belongs to me. I beg of you not to use him in your scheme of punishment. How shall I get back to Bismarck after you release me?"

"Stop yer talkin', you!" scowled Spearman. "I reckon, if we turn ye loose, that ort ter be about all ye kin ask. Slim," he added to his comrade, "yer suggestion is in good taste, an' hes my approval. The trick hes been done afore, an' allers, I make no doubt, with good an' lastin' effects ter the community. Pris'ner, hev ye got anythin' ter say?"

"Only this," replied Newt Prebbles. "My father is lying sick at Fort Totten. He needs me. If you try to tie me to that horse and send me across the border, I'll fight till I drop. What more do you want?" he cried passionately. "I gambled with you, and I resorted to a gambler's tricks, but I have returned more money than I took."

"Ye returned the money bekase ye had ter," said Spearman grimly. "If us fellers hadn't blowed in here, we wouldn't 'a' got it."

"You're wrong there, Spearman," called Matt. "I have told you once, and I repeat it now, that Prebbles gave up that moment before he, or any of the rest of us, knew you were coming here. I protest against such inhuman treatment as you're planning to give him."

"All right," grinned Spearman, "protest. Now, we'll let that drap while we consider the case o' the gent on the floor. I reckon, Motor Matt, ye're plumb anxious ter take him ter Totten, ain't ye?"

"I am," answered Matt. "As I told you, he's wanted by the government."

"It 'u'd be a feather in yer cap if ye toted him in, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know anything about that, and I don't care. He's a scoundrel, and ought to be punished."

"An' thar's a thousand out fer him?"

"Yes."

"Which ye'd git?"

"No. It goes to another man."

Spearman drew down an eyelid in a knowing wink.

"'Course I ain't swallerin' that, not noways. It was right funny, that thing ye done over on the hill. I reckon ye've laughed a-considerable about that, hey? I didn't git a chance ter fly with ye, an' the boys hev been joshin' me ever sence about it. Ye ort ter be punished somehow, an' I reckon the easiest and best way ter do that is by letting yer pris'ner go. Ye won't hev no feather in yer cap, an' ye won't hev no thousand dollars. Slim!"

"On deck, Jed."

"I ordered ye, a while ago, ter let that man loose. Now, I order ye ag'in. This time, I want it done!"

"Wait a second!" cried Matt. "Spearman," he went on, "are you such a fool you think you can punish me by allowing this man his freedom?"

"Keerful!" warned the foreman. "Don't git ter callin' names. I won't stand fer that, not fer a minit."

"If you allow this criminal to go, you'll be getting yourself into hot water—you won't be hurting me."

"I know what I'm about. Slim!"

Slim started toward Motor Matt, swinging one hand carelessly but significantly behind him.

"Keep away," said Matt, a dangerous light rising in his eyes. "You'll not let this man go."

"Are you going to let yourself be bluffed by a fellow of his size?" taunted Murgatroyd, taking another tack.

"No words from you," growled Spearman.

Slim undoubtedly felt that it was up to him to let the foreman and Hen know what he was good for. He had a natural delicacy about using a weapon against an unarmed youth, so he made the mistake of thinking he could eliminate the barrier with his hands.

"Side-step!" he commanded.

Matt held his ground.

"Waal, if ye won't, then take that."

Slim swung his fist. What happened, then, must have astonished him exceedingly.

His fist clove the empty air, and before he could recover his poise he was struck a blow that heaved him over against Hen, and toppled both of them against the wall.

"Jumpin' jee-mimy!" stuttered Slim, rubbing his chin. "He hits like the kick of a mule—an' it was about as quick."

"Oh, blazes!" growled Spearman, in disgust. "Hen, you help. If the two o' ye ain't enough, I'll join in."

McGlory had pressed closer to Matt's side. The two chums were now shoulder to shoulder.

"I'm a cowboy myself," cried McGlory, "and if you longhorns have come out prancin' for trouble, I guess we can accommodate you."

But the matter was never brought to an issue. A shrill whistle echoed from the outside. Spearman jumped to his feet.

"That's from one o' our boys," said he. "What's doin'?"

The next moment Spearman knew. A khaki-clad officer appeared in the doorway, covered with the dust of a hard ride. Standing there, for an instant, he surveyed the interior of the shack.

"Cameron!" cried Matt joyfully.

"Whoop-ya!" roared McGlory. "Lieutenant Cameron, of the old U. S. A. Speak to me about that! He's just in time."

"Who's Leftenant Cameron?" snorted Spearman. "I don't know him from Adam."

"Possibly not," answered Cameron, "but, fortunately, I've got a man with me whom you do know. Come in, Roscoe!" called the lieutenant, stepping farther into the room.

A burly individual slouched through the doorway and stood looking out from under his bushy brows at Spearman.

The foreman's careless air left him in a flash. He fell back a step.

"Roscoe!"

"Surest thing you know," replied the burly individual, "Roscoe, Sheriff of Burleigh. Now, what's been going on here?"

There was something humorous, after that, in Spearman's attempt to explain. The whole story was finally given by Matt, and listened to with attention.

The sheriff, when all the details were in, drew a large slab of tobacco from his pocket and nibbled off a corner.

"Who's got the money that was won at the bunk house?" he asked calmly.

"Slim, thar," answered Spearman.

"Fork over, Slim."

Slim promptly tossed the bag to Roscoe.

"If you Tin Cup men haven't got sense enough to keep from being skinned," remarked the sheriff, "you ought to be done out of your eyeteeth. And, furthermore, you haven't any call to chase the man that was too sharp for you and try to run him out of the country. You fellows at the Tin Cup are a heap too lawless. I've had my eye on you for quite a spell. The money goes to the man that took it. Here, stranger! I'm not approving of the way it was come by, mark you, but, so far as the ethics of this case are concerned, the money is yours."

"I don't want it," was the astounding response from Newt Prebbles. "I'm a different man from what I was when I got that away from the Tin Cup fellows."

The sheriff stared, then calmly dropped the bag into his own pocket.

"I'll accept the donation," said he, "and pass it along to the Bismarck Orphan Asylum. Now, Spearman," and he stepped over and tapped the foreman on the chest, "I wish I could take you to town with me for planning to release a badly wanted man. But I can't. All I can say is that I've got my eye on you. Scatter out of this. That will be about all."

The Tin Cup men "scattered." As the galloping hoofs died away in the distance, Lieutenant Cameron stepped over and caught Matt's hand.

"I guess I was of some use, after all, eh, Matt? You fellows have had most of the fun, but I managed to get here in time to save you some unpleasantness."

"You did," answered Motor Matt gratefully, wringing the brave fellow's hand. "You've saved the prisoner, and made it possible for Prebbles' son to get to the post in time to——"

"Wait," interrupted Cameron, pulling a yellow slip from his pocket. "That reached me just as the sheriff and I were leaving Bismarck."

Matt took the telegram. It was brief, but terribly to the point.

"Prebbles can't last more than twenty-four hours, at the outside. Useless to bring his son."

This was signed by the doctor. Silently Matt passed the telegram to Newt.

Young Prebbles read it, dropped into a chair, and buried his face in his hands.