"Shove out yore mitts on each side of this stick!" came his sharp command.
Shorty blinked at him with feigned stupidity out of veiled, bloodshot eyes.
"Quick!" snapped the Sergeant, with a fresh burst of fury at the other's irresolution. "Quick, yu' sorrel-topped skunk, or I'll kill yu'!"
Sullenly the gory arms were clasped around the tree and the handcuffs clicked home. His man secure, the policeman turned swiftly.
"_Adios_, Shorty," he said, with grim levity. "I'm just takin' a little _paseur_ now. I'll be back before the coyotes get yu'."
The rustler gazed after his retreating form with evil wonder. So far he had uttered no sound, but now his lips framed themselves for speech. Something causing him to change his mind, however, he only spat viciously and resolutely held his peace.
An hour passed. A slow one, too, for the shackled man. Shifting wearily from one foot to the other, he eventually sat down, shoving out a leg on either side of the cottonwood, his arms, of necessity, hugging the butt. The sound of voices presently smote his ear, not unpleasantly either, for by this time he was beyond caring for _what_ happened to him so long as he was released from his cramped, ludicrous position. Soon two riders hove into view at the entrance to the draw, and in them he recognized his captor, and--Gallagher.
The sight of the latter vaguely disturbed his warped conscience. Gallagher had always been decent to him, he reflected. Had once even lent him money. How could the policeman know it was Gallagher's steer? He _couldn't_, he argued to himself. They were just trying to put some bluff over him. And the conviction that he still held a trump card hardened his heart.
Pulling up at the dead steer, they dismounted and, leaving Gallagher examining the carcass, Ellis walked on down the draw and released his prisoner, snapping the handcuff back on the wrist again.
"Get yu' over to th' beef an' set down," he ground out curtly.
The rancher looked up at their approach. "Howdy, Shorty," he said quietly, with a grim nod, which salute the other returned sullenly, with a brazen stare, sitting down resignedly, with his manacled hands clasping his knees. Benton, rolling a cigarette, looked interrogatively at Gallagher.