"We've talked it all over, and the verdict is plum' against you. Punishment has got to be inflicted for violating the law of the range. But we're humane gents, we are, and willing to be some merciful. If you care to sign a confession that you are a rustler and a skinner of bogged cows and let the three of us witness it, we'll let you off some. What about it, rustler?"
For a moment Childress seemed to be considering the proposition. A confession of the sort demanded would probably save him much humiliation, but it would end his activities in the region and leave the mystery of the Fire Weed robbers unsolved. Any document he might sign under the circumstances would bring no penalty to him. The commissioner at Ottawa would see to that. But never had he yielded in the face of danger, and he was not ready to do so now.
"I'll sign nothing under duress!" he answered decisively.
"You'll think duress a hell of a more serious proposition before we're through," said Murdock quietly, and returned to his men.
"Yore ider didn't seem to be no good," said Rust, as the troubled foreman neared the punchers.
Roper was grinning. "But I gave birth to one of my own while yuh was gone. Why not brand the son of a butcher as if he was a maverick? A horseshoe on the forehead with the Lazy G inside! I've got a running iron."
"Whoah, boy! There is an ider," congratulated Rust. "Once he gets that burned into his classic brow he'll keep out of the province or I don't know who's what."
Childress heard every word. He hated to think what some artist in live-stock pyrotechnics might do to him in his present defenceless condition. It was evident that foreman Murdock controlled the situation; he watched the handsome stockman closely.
For a time—several minutes, although they seemed longer—Murdock considered. Then: "Build a fire, boys. That's the best idea yet. I'll take the responsibility."
The preliminaries were brief. Roper went to his horse and from somewhere about the saddle produced an iron resembling a poker. It was a tool of the range long outlawed in the United States because of the service it performed for brand-blotting rustlers of both horse and cattle stock. On most ranches the punchers whose duty it is to brand the strays which have escaped the round-up carry an iron that plants the entire brand at one pressure, embosses it, as it were, in the hair with the least possible pain and disfigurement to the animal.