"He done told us at the camp-fire one night. He made his brags how you got the blame for it an' would have to hang."
"Albeen heard him say it—an' Dumont too?"
"Tha's right, Mr. Clanton. An' I'll sure take my Bible oath on it."
Go-Get-'Em Jim whipped out the forty-five from its holster and fired. Roush dropped screaming to the ground. He thought he had been shot. The bullet had cut the rope above his head.
"Get up," ordered Clanton in disgust.
Roush rose stiffly.
Jim swung to the saddle of the horse beside him. "Hit the dust," he told his captive.
The rider followed the footman to the top of the bluff. Here Roush was instructed to mount the horse Clanton had been astride all night. Riding behind the tame bad man, Jim cut across the hills to a gulch and followed it till the ravine ran out in a little valley. He crossed this and climbed a stiff pass from the other side of which he looked down on Live-Oaks a thousand feet below.
The young man tied the hands of his prisoner behind him. From a coat pocket he drew a looking-glass, caught the sun's rays, and flung them upon a house in the suburbs of the town.
Out of the house there presently came a man. He stood in the doorway a moment before going down the street. A flash of hot sunlight caught him full in the face. He moved. The light danced after him. Then be woke up. From the cliff far above friends of his had been wont to heliograph signals during the late Washington County War.