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Rh fugitive to secure a rifle and return to release the others by drilling him at long range.

His thoughts were interrupted by the vision of a red head that climbed into view over a rise a short distance off and he grinned his delight as Mr. Cassidy loomed up, jaunty and triumphant. Mr. Cassidy was executing calisthenics with a Colt's in the rear of Mr. Travennes' neck and was leading the horses.

Mr. Connors waved the skillet and his friend grinned his congratulations at what the token signified.

"I see yu got some more," said Mr. Cassidy, as he went down the line-up from the rear and collected nineteen weapons of various makes and conditions, this number being explained by the fact that all but one of the prisoners wore two. Then he added the five that had kicked against his ribs ever since he had left the hut, and carefully threaded the end of his lariat through the trigger guards.

"Looks like we stuck up a government supply mule, Red," he remarked, as he fastened the whole collection to his saddle. "Fourteen colts, six Merwin-Hulbert's, three Prescott, an' one puzzle," he added, examining the puzzle. "Made in Germany, it says, and it shore looks like it. It's got little pins stickin' out of th' cylinder, like you had to swat it with a hammer or a rock, or somethin' to make it go off. Must be damn dangerous, to most anybody around. Looks more like a cactus than a six-shooter—gosh, it's a ten-shooter! I allus said them Dutchmen was bloody-minded cusses. Think of bein' able to shoot yoreself ten times before th' blame thing stops!" Then looking at the line-up for the owner of the weapon, he laughed at the woeful countenances displayed. "Did they sidle in by companies or squads?" he asked.

"By twos, mostly. Then they parade-rested an' got discharged from duty. I had eleven, but one got homesick, or disgusted, or