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Some one laughed. It was not the red-haired man, of course, for he was in anything but a merry mood. The laughter came from behind the scout, and was the first intimation that there was any one else in the place.

The scout could not very well turn from the red-haired man and investigate.

“Who’s doing that?” he demanded.

“You git right out o’ here!” flamed the red-haired man. “This ain’t none o’ yore put-in, or——”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” cut in the scout sharply. “Who are you, behind there?”

“Nate Dunbar,” came the answer.

“If you’re a friend of this red-headed rawhide, Dunbar,” proceeded the scout, “why don’t you step up behind me and help him put me out?”

“For two reasons,” answered the voice behind. “First off, neighbor, I’m no friend of Red Steve’s. Then, again, I’m lashed and laid away on the shelf. If I was able to move, I’d take Red Steve down and choke the breath out of him.”

“Dunbar’s a hoss thief that I’ve captured,” cried Red Steve, “an’ I want ye ter go on erbout yore bizness an’ leave us alone.”