Rathburn rose and crouched under the trapdoor, gun in hand. Lamy watched him, breathless, perplexed, uncertain. They heard men running; then there were no sounds from above and a deathly stillness settled down.

Slowly and with infinite care Rathburn raised the trapdoor an inch or two and listened intently. Lamy scrambled to his knees on the pile of gunny sacks; but Rathburn swung quickly upon him. They stared at each other in the semidarkness.

“He said two,” breathed Lamy, a curious look in his eyes.

“Are you afraid?” mocked Rathburn. “It’s me they want––don’t worry. I may make a break for it, an’ if I do there’s likely to be powder burned. You can stay here an’ get out when they take after me, if I go,” said Rathburn, and the sneer in his voice caused Lamy to flush uncomfortably.

Rathburn petted the gun in his hand. “But before I make a break I want to tell you something that I should have told you before this, when I had more time–––”

He bit off his speech as there came a sudden recurrence of the sounds in the house. The trapdoor closed down.

“Where’s the cellar?” came the sheriff’s authoritative voice.

Many feet tramped upon the floor above them. Then they heard the rug stripped back. There was an exclamation from the sheriff and the sound of moving feet suddenly was stilled.

“Is there any one in the cellar?” the sheriff called.

Silence––with Lamy pressing Rathburn’s knee with a hand, and Rathburn smiling that queer, grim smile which conveyed so much, yet nothing which was tangible.

“Get around here, you fellows,” they heard the sheriff order.

The sound of boots and spurs attested to the quickness with which his order was obeyed.

Rathburn leaned down suddenly and with lightning swiftness jerked Lamy’s gun from its holster near his side. He tossed the weapon to a corner of the dark cellar just as the sheriff’s voice was heard again.

“Coyote, if you’re down there I’m not going to take a chance fumbling with that door. If you ain’t there, then there won’t be any harm in what I’m going to do. If I don’t hear anything when I finish talking I’m going to give the signal to my men to start shooting through the floor––and I mean it. If anybody’s down there it’d be good sense to flip up that door and crawl out hands first, an’ those hands empty.”

“Sheriff, you’re bluffing!” said Rathburn loudly.

Then the sheriff spoke again in an exultant tone. “I figured it was the best hidin’ place you could find, Coyote. You’re right; I was sort of bluffing, but I might have changed my mind an’ gone on through with it. We’ve got you dead to rights, Coyote; you haven’t got a chance. There’s seven of us now an’ every man is ready to open up if you come out of there a-shooting.”

Rathburn slipped his gun back into his holster. He raised the trapdoor slowly until it tipped back on the floor leaving the opening into the cellar clear.

“Two of ’em!” he heard some one exclaim.

He looked up to accustom his eyes to the light and saw a dozen guns covering him.

“Gentlemen, the landscape fairly bristles with artillery,” he said amiably. “Who’s the sheriff? And––there’s Jud Brown. Who let you loose, Jud?”

“I’m Sheriff Neal,” interposed that individual, a slight, dark man with a bristly mustache. “Come out of there––hands free.”

“For the time being, eh, sheriff? I expect you figure on fixing those hands so they won’t be free, eh? Well, all I’ve got to say is that I hope you won’t spend the money foolishly, sheriff.”

Rathburn leaped lightly out of the cellar.

“Keep that other man down there covered, too,” snapped out Neal. “It’s principle more than reward money that invites me, Coyote. Hand over your gun belt an’ be careful how you unbuckle it.”

“Sheriff, it would be against my code of ethics to hand over my gun. It can’t be done, sheriff; you’ll have to come and get it.”

Neal hesitated, notwithstanding the fact that he had Rathburn covered and that several other guns were covering him. Then he stepped forward, never taking his eyes from Rathburn’s, and secured the other’s weapon.

“That’s better, sheriff,” said Rathburn with a queer smile. “You can see how I have my pride an’ little superstitions. No man has ever took a gun from me but what I’ve got it back! Thanks, sheriff.”

Lamy had come out of the cellar. Several of the men seemed to recognize him, but kept their silence with dubious looks in their eyes.

“My guide, sheriff,” said Rathburn, pointing gayly at Lamy. “He was very kind. He showed me around the country––me not being very well acquainted around here. I had to take his gun away 74 from him an’ sort of encourage him along with my own, but he did very nicely.”

“Just what I thought, Neal,” said Brown. “This fellow took after him an’ he captured him and made him lead him. Isn’t that so?” he asked of Lamy.

“Just a minute, Jud,” Rathburn interrupted with a frown. “I can’t let the importance of this momentous occasion be transferred to a subordinate. You must ask your questions of me, as I am the central figure in this affair.”

The cry of a girl startled them. She came running from the kitchen where she had fled when the sheriff announced his intention to shoot through the floor.

“Ed!” she cried, running to Lamy and throwing her arms about him. “Oh––Ed!”

“Who is he, ma’am?” asked the sheriff. “Your husband?”

“He’s my brother––Ed Lamy.”

“I can recommend him if you need a guide who knows the country, sheriff,” said Rathburn genially. “I guess he had an idea of making trouble for me at first, but I had the drop on him an’ he soon saw reason. I had to knock him down last night when he got fresh, but he did very well. Of course I had an advantage on my side.” He nodded toward his gun which the official still held in his hand.

“Did he make you guide him?” Neal asked Lamy, noting his empty holster.

Rathburn turned so that he could look at his former captive.

Lamy nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “I didn’t know what minute I was goin’ to get shot in the back.”

Rathburn’s eyes glowed with an amused light. “I didn’t have any idea of shootin’ him, sheriff; he was too valuable as my escort on the tour. I wonder 75 if the lady could spare me a cup of coffee an’ a biscuit?”

He glimpsed the boy in the kitchen doorway behind the sheriff. “Hello, sonny,” he called cheerfully. “Did you catch those freckles from your brother?”

The boy gazed at him abashed. There were actually tears in the youngster’s eyes. Ed Lamy and his sister moved into the kitchen and took the boy with them. The girl had nodded to the sheriff.

“She’ll get you something to eat,” said Neal. “What have you got on you?” He stepped to Rathburn’s side.

“Ah––the frisk. I see you are a regulation officer, sheriff.” Rathburn’s tone fairly radiated politeness and good cheer. “The silver was rather heavy. It ain’t my usual style to pack much silver, sheriff. There’s more of the bills in my hip pockets. Don’t suppose there’s more’n a thousand in the whole bundle.”

The sheriff put the bills and silver on the table. He investigated all of Rathburn’s pockets, returned him his tobacco, papers, and handkerchief, but kept a box of matches. Then he felt his prisoner’s clothing to make sure that he had no weapons concealed; he also felt his boot tops.

He looked at Rathburn with a gloating expression when he had finished; there was also a glint of admiration in the gaze he directed at him.

“You size right up to the descriptions of you, Coyote,” he reflected in a pleasant voice. “Too bad you couldn’t have been in a better business. I’m glad I caught you, but I ain’t any too––too––well, I might say any too proud of it. That may be pleasant for you to hear. But I ain’t discounting your well-known ability, an’ I want to warn you 76 that I or any of my men will shoot you in your tracks if you start anything that looks suspiciouslike.”

Rathburn yawned. “Sheriff, your courtesy is very greatly appreciated. I only hope we will arrive in jail or somewhere soon where I can get some sleep. I’m all in.”