He made the grewsome motions of tightening a loop about his neck and the Texans turned deathly pale.
"I thought you were deputies," said one of them at length, but no one responded directly. With two prisoners on their hands they would be handicapped at every turn, and the question before them was whether to let Grimes hang them or allow them to go scot free.
"Well, what you got to say for yourselves?" asked Meshackatee at length, after they had eaten a scanty breakfast. "Where'd you git that band of horses you had yesterday?"
The younger of the boys was by now too scared to talk, but the older one spoke up boldly.
"We were coming in from Holbrook," he said, "and some men that we met said they'd give us ten dollars to drive these broncs down into the Basin."
"Come from Texas?" inquired Meshackatee. "Well, couldn't you see by them brands that half those horses was stolen? I know you could now, son; so don't make us hang you for a liar."
"You're a liar yourself!" flashed back the boy indignantly. "Didn't you claim you was a deputy sheriff!"
"Take the witness," shrugged Meshackatee, rolling his eyes at Winchester. "He's too danged smart for me."
"Lookee here, kid," began Winchester with a placating smile, "you'd better come through with the truth. Who're you working for—Isham Scarborough?"
"Don't know him," denied the boy. "We were jest rambling through the country when we met up with them fellers with the horses. Say, are you deputy sheriffs? Well then, you don't dare to hang me! Don't I git a trial, or nothing?"