"You two sku—specimens," began the major, ominously, "told me you were only accidentally on the Sioux reservation. You swore you were simply out hunting antelope."
"That's God's truth, major," whined the taller of the two, though the other seemed ready to parley and plead.
"That's an infernal lie!" was the answer. "You told me the Sioux 'jumped' your camp, killed your partner, and burned your wagon." And with menace in his burning eyes the veteran officer paused for a reply.
"'Fore God, major, that's how it looked to us. 'Course it was pitch-dark—"
"Pitch-dark—in bright moonlight! This is worse, and more of it. You're a pair of black-hearted villains! You went there deliberately. You went with a wagon-load of arms and ammunition to sell to Sioux Indians just bound for the war-path. You'd swing for that if there was any law in the land, but swing you shall—anyhow!"
"You dassn't touch us!" burst in the leader, sudden spirit and defiance in his tone, well knowing how powerless were the military in face of civil law. "We're no poor devils of dog-robbers. We demand protection and a fair trial—a jury of our peers; that means no hide-bound gang of soldiers. You can't prove we sold so much as a shot, an' you know it, an' you're only trying to bluff."
"That's enough, you!" was the startling answer. "Sergeant of the guard, shoot these men like dogs if they attempt to escape. We sha'n't waste time trying to prove you sold arms. What we can prove, and will prove, and by your own man, too, and hang you high as Haman for it, is that Pete Gamble, deputy sheriff, caught you at your devilish work, and you shot him dead from ambush!"