“Give me a chance, will you?â€� the man snarled. “Here I am dyin’, maybe, an’ you keep askin’ questions! It’s funny, though—it sure is funny—â€�
“You won’t die unless you get strung up,� Roy asserted coolly. “Better come clean. Who are you? Do you know where our horses are?�
For a moment the man did not answer. He appeared to be turning something over in his mind. Then suddenly he hammered his fist on the floor, and raised himself on one elbow.
“I’ll tell,â€� he said forcibly. “I’ll tell you the whole thing! I’m done with Gilly Froud—the rat! He tried his best to kill me! Now listen!â€�
The fire flared up, and Roy and Teddy bent over the injured man. Outside the rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast, so that shadows thrown by the dancing flames played cheerily about in the dim light of the room. A horse whinnied softly, but neither Roy nor Teddy heard it. The man on the floor took a deep breath and continued:
“My name—never mind my name. You wouldn’t know it, anyway. My business you gotta know—I’m a rustler.â€� He paused for a moment.
“One of Gilly Froud’s gang?� Roy asked eagerly.
“Gilly Froud’s gang? No! You think that sneak has got nerve enough to boss a bunch of rustlers? He was one of my gang until now, an’ I hope he gets it good! Thought he could kill me an’ take all the cattle for himself—left me for dead an’ rode away. But I fooled him! I ain’t dead yet, by a long shot! I waited till I saw him go, then I started on foot—he’d taken my bronc. Somehow I couldn’t stop this bleedin’, an’ I got weaker. Then it started to rain, an’ I said, ‘Well, here goes nothin’.’ I made for this shack, thinkin’ I’d come here an’ die, where I kept my brandin’ irons—an’ right good irons they are, too, if I do say it myself! I wanted to take one more look at ’em. Had an idea that the 8 X 8 brand wasn’t just perfect, an’ I wanted to find out before I passed on. You see, we sometimes have to use the old iron with the new.â€� He looked up at Roy, who was holding the wooden handle of the tourniquet. “Was it all right? Does that curl on the eight look real?â€�
“It does,� Roy answered, glancing down with a puzzled expression. A man who thought he was dying wanting to take a last look at the irons with which he branded stolen horses!
“Glad of that,� the wounded man said, with a sigh. “I never made a mistake on an iron in my life, an’ I just wanted to satisfy myself before I kicked the bucket. Well, I guess you know the rest. Here I am. What are you goin’ to do with me?�