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"Taggart?" muttered Joe. "What for? For why you send for him?"

"Why does a man generally send for him?" countered Gallup dryly. "Know who he is, don't you, Joe?"

"Sure, I know! But I ain't done nothin'. I ain't no t'ief. This is mine."

"Thief?" Gallup having repeated the word thoughtfully, said it a second time: "Thief! I hadn't thought of that."

"Let me go," cried Joe. With a sudden fierce jerk he broke free and started to the door.

But Gallup, shaking his head, was at his side like a flash. He thrust the Mexican aside and stood with his heavy square shoulders against the oak panel. Joe, by now trembling with fury, slipped a hand into his shirt. But before the hastening fingers could close about the sheath-knife which Gallup knew well enough they sought, Gallup drew back a heavy fist and struck the Mexican full in the face. Joe went staggering across the room and fell, his battered lips writhing back from his teeth. Again his hand went into his shirt. Gallup ran across the room and stood over him, one heavy boot drawn back threateningly.