“Take it easy, son,” Mr. Manley said kindly. “You ain’t in no fit condition to be hung. What you want is rest an’ food. Hangin’ wouldn’t make you feel a bit better. Guess you’ve learned yore lesson. Jules Kolto! Well, well! And you been straight for so many years only to backslide an’ have the money you stole taken from you by another thief! The longer we live the queerer things we see,” and Mr. Manley smiled grimly. “Yore hoss—or, rather, the one you stole—is picketed over yonder. We found him. You took a mighty poor way to start straight. No good ever comes of stolen money. An’ while I ain’t a preacher, I’m preachin’ now.
“You wanted to get to Mexico an’ see yore sister, maybe live there the rest of yore life, an’ to do that you undid all the work of ten years in one grand spree. Suppose you had gotten away with it? What would yore sister have said to you? Think she’d have anything to do with stolen money when she’d made you promise to quit? An’ what else was that you said—that yore mother died when she found out that you was a bandit? Then you went ahead and stole again! Humans are funny animals,” and Mr. Manley shook his head. “I can’t figure ’em.
“Now listen, Jules Kolto. I’ll give you another chance. You help us find Denver Smith an’ his gang an’ get our cattle back. Then you come home with me an’ work—work until that four hundred is paid. Then you can find yore sister an’ she won’t be ashamed to see you. Jules Kolto, I’m offerin’ you a chance to go straight. Will yuh take it?”
Jules stood up. He threw back his head and the gleam from the fire shone on the face of a man with his jaw set firmly and with the light of a new purpose in his eyes.
“Boss,” he said huskily, “I’m for you! I can’t say much,—but I’ll do whatever you want me to—barrin’ nothin’. I’ll trail Denver Smith till we get the cattle back if I drop in my tracks doin’ it. I’ll work my fingers off for you. Boss—will you shake?”
There was a tense silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire, as the hands of boss and bandit met in a firm clasp.
CHAPTER XXIV
Flying Bullets
A rosy dawn broke over the prairie. It shone on a group of men moving quickly about. Near them the smoke from a campfire arose. A few pans, containing the remains of a range breakfast, lay near it on the ground. Horses were being saddled, blankets rolled, rifles were being wiped dry from the morning dew. But there was an orderliness about this activity, a purpose in every movement of the figures. Every man knew exactly what he had to do, and was doing it, swiftly and definitely.
Teddy was tightening a cinch-strap, and he looked up as Roy called to him:
“Need any help? I’m all set.”