Ferguson's eyelashes twitched a little. "Thank you for the compliment," he said.
"Aw, hell!" declared the man, sneering. "I wasn't mushin' none!"
Stafford had made a sign to the men and some of them dismounted and approached the two rustlers. The man who had profanely admonished the other to silence made some little resistance, but in the end he stood within the circle, his hands tied behind him. The clear-eyed man made no resistance, seeming to regard the affair in the light of a huge joke. Once, while the Two Diamond men worked at his hands, he told them to be careful not to hurt him.
"I'm goin' to be hurt enough, after a while," he added.
There was nothing more to be done. The proof of guilt was before the Two Diamond men, in the shape of several calves in the small corral that still bore the Two Diamond brand. Several of the cows were still adorned with the Two Diamond ear mark, and in addition to this was Ferguson's evidence. Therefore the men's ponies were caught up, saddled, and the two men forced to mount. Then the entire company rode out of the little gully through which the Two Diamond outfit had entered, riding toward the cottonwood that skirted the river—miles away.
A little while before sunset the cavalcade rode to the edge of the cottonwood. Stafford halted his pony and looked at Ferguson, but the stray-man had seen enough tragedy for one day and he shook his head, sitting gloomily in the saddle.
"I'm waitin' here," he said simply. "There'll be enough in there to do it without me."
The clear-eyed man looked at him with a grim smile.
"Why, hell!" he said. "You ain't goin' in?" his eyes lighted for an instant. "I reckon you're plum white!" he declared. "You ain't aimin' to see any free show."
"I'm sayin' so-long to you," returned Ferguson. "You're game." A flash of admiration lighted his eyes.