"You're gitting a trial, right now," returned Winchester. "And if you git too gay we'll jest take off these tin stars and show you whether or not we can hang you. You're a tough little devil, I can see that with one eye; but—oh, hell, let the little whelp go!"
He laughed shortly and turned away, pretending to adjust his pistol, and McIvor nodded at Meshackatee.
"We're not fighting boys," he said, but Grimes took the opposite view.
"Now, gentlemen," he objected, rising up from where he sat, "I think you're wrong—dead wrong. These boys may be young but they knew what they were doing; and this stealing has got to stop, that's all! I'll jest take off this star, so they won't be no complications, and—you can turn them over to me."
"No, don't you do it, Mister!" cried the boy in a panic, running to cling to Meshackatee's knees, "I—I'll never steal another horse again. And this other boy, he's only a kid—we ran away from home together."
"Oh, I see," mumbled Meshackatee, and glanced questioningly at Grimes who stood with his lips grimly pursed.
"Well?" he demanded, but Meshackatee shook his head.
"Nope," he said, "they's too small, Mr. Grimes. And I ran away from home myself."
"Then I resign," snarled Grimes, beginning to unpin his star and Meshackatee held out his hand.