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 you a straight answer. I’m not bluffing: I want Du Sang.”

Rebstock squirmed. He swore with shortened breath that he knew nothing about Du Sang; that Du Sang had stolen his cattle; that hanging was too good for him; that he would join any posse in searching for him; and that he had not seen him for three months.

“Likely enough,” assented Whispering Smith, “but this is wasting time. He rode in here last night after killing old Dan Baggs. Your estimable nephew Barney is with him, and Karg is with him, and I want them; but, in especial and particular, I want Du Sang.”

Rebstock denied, protested, wheezed, and stormed, but Whispering Smith was immovable. He would not stir from the Cache upon any promises. Rebstock offered to surrender any one else in the Cache—hinted strongly at two different men for whom handsome rewards were out; but every compromise suggested was met with the same good-natured words: “I want Du Sang.”

At last the smile changed on Whispering Smith’s face. It lighted his eyes still, but with a different expression. “See here, Rebstock, you and I have always got along, haven’t we? I’ve no desire to crowd any man to the wall that is a man. Now I am going to tell you the simple truth. Du Sang 287