"And if I had been?" inquired Hall, and Isham looked up from where he was untying the ropes.
"We'd a stretched your damned neck," he replied succinctly. "Plain shooting is too good for them rascals."
"And what now?" went on the stranger, "do I get my horse back, with an apology for all this rough treatment; or must I——"
"You do not!" returned Isham. "We don't apologize to nobody. You're lucky to git off alive."
"Very well," answered Hall, and the tone of his voice suggested reprisals to come.
"What d'ye mean?" flared up Isham. "You're pretty danged fresh for a man that's jest saved his neck."
"Perhaps so," he assented. "Am I still your prisoner, or am I free to go?"
"You'll wait until I ask you a few more questions." And Isham beckoned his brother to one side. They talked together with their eyes on their prisoner, and then Isham Scarborough returned. Though he was the leader of the gang, both Red and Meshackatee seemed to regard him with scant respect; yet he was their spokesman, being by nature loud and boastful, while Red was watchful and silent, and he began with some general remarks.
"Now lookee here, my friend," he said, stepping closer and looking his prisoner in the eye, "you don't want to think, jest because you're bad, that anybody around here's afraid of you. The hombre don't live that can make me apologize, and you'd better not make any threats; but if you'll answer a few questions and act like a gentleman we'll let you go into the Basin. Now, who is this feller that you're looking for so hard—and does he belong to the Bassetts or the Scarboroughs?"
"Not to either, that I know of—he may not be in the Basin—but I give you my word that this mission of mine has nothing to do with your quarrel."