it too."

The major laughed. "Well, you heard HOW the new sheriff did it--skunked
away with his whole posse before one-eighth of my men! You saw how the
rest of this camp held up your nine troopers, and that sap-headed cub
of a lieutenant--didn't you? You wouldn't have been standing here if
you hadn't. No; there isn't the civil process nor the civil power in all
California that can take me out of this camp."

But neither his previous curiosity nor present bravado seemed to impress
the ragged stranger with much favor. He glanced sulkily around the cabin
and began to shuffle towards the door.

"Stop! Where are you going to? Sit down. I want to talk to you."

The fugitive hesitated for a moment, and then dropped ungraciously on
the edge of a camp-stool near the door. The major looked at him.

"I may have to remind you that I run this camp, and the boys hereabouts
do pretty much as I say. What's your name?"

"Tom."

"Tom? Well, look here, Tom! D--n it all! Can't you see that when a man
is stuck here alone, as I am, he wants to know what's going on outside,
and hear a little fresh talk?"

The singular weakness of this blended command and appeal apparently
struck the fugitive curiously. He fixed his lowering eyes on the major
as if in gloomy doubt if he were really the reckless desperado he had