“We came to arrest you, for trial, to-night, now. That’s my duty.”
“Nabours,” said McMasters, slowly, at last, “I ought to kill you for that. But I’ve got to have this clear.”
“Give up your guns and stand fair trial. We’ll make it clear.”
“No man lives who shall touch my guns. But who brings charge against Dan McMasters, sheriff and ranger and deputy marshal of the United States? What sort of mean joke is this?”
“It’s Miss Taisie Lockhart brings the charge,” said Nabours.
The young man flinched as though struck.
“What charge?”
“Theft; stealing from a friend; stealing from folks that has fed you.”
Slowly the black muzzles drooped. With a movement as deliberate as their withdrawal had been swift, McMasters thrust both guns into their scabbards, unbuckled his belt and hung it over his saddle horn.
“Has she sent for me?” he asked.