“We will have,” Wild Bill told her, “just as soon as Nomad can harness them up.”

She came on into the room.

“Idt vos a great drick, huh?” cried the German to her. “Aber I ton’dt t’ought at one dime dot I gan standt idt to blay it to der endt.”

“So, you wasn’t tied at all back there?” said Gopher Gabe, boring the baron with his ratlike eyes.

“Not so dot I feldt idt, eenyhow,” said the baron. “Ve vos der bait for der rat drap, undil idt couldt pe sprung.”

Juniper Joe began to rave wildly, cursing the man he had known as the Fool of Folly Mountain.

“Was it a fair deal?” he howled. “You went even into the road-agent biz, jest to carry this thing through.”

“Which is where you’re mistaken, old boy,” Wild Bill told him; “I only told you so, to get you to take me into the gang, so that I could get on the inside of its schemes. See? And the thing seems to have worked most beautifully.”

Nomad was tying the rascals, doing the work well and expeditiously. He was enjoying it, too.