“You know I’m right, Tom,” returned the Dean quickly.  “You an’ me have lived neighbors for pretty near thirty years, without ever a hard word passed between us, an’ we’ve been through some mighty serious troubles together; an’ you, too, George, an’ Henry an’ Bill.  The rest of you boys I have known since you was little kids; an’ me and your daddies worked an’ fought side by side for decent livin’ an’ law-abidin’ times before you was born.  We did it ’cause we didn’t want our children to go through with what we had to go through, or do some of the things that we had to do.  An’ now you’re all thinkin’ that you can cut me out of this.  You think you can sneak out here before I’m out of my bed in the mornin’, an’ hang one of my own cowboys—­as good a man as ever throwed a rope, too.  Without sayin’ a word to me, you come crawlin’ right into my own corral, an’ start to raisin’ hell.  I’m here to tell you that you can’t do it.  You can’t do it because I won’t let you.”

The men, with downcast eyes, sat on their horses, ashamed.  Two or three muttered approval.  Jim Reid said earnestly, “That’s all right, Will.  We knew how you would feel, an’ we were just aimin’ to save you any more trouble.  Them Tailholt Mountain thieves have gone too far this time.  We can’t let you turn that man loose.”

“I ain’t goin’ to try to turn him loose,” retorted the Dean.

The men looked at each other.

“What are you goin’ to do, then?” asked the spokesman.

“I’m goin’ to make you turn him loose,” came the startling answer.  “You fellows took him; you’ve got to let him go.”

In spite of the grave situation several of the men grinned at the Dean’s answer—­it was so like him.

“I’ll bet a steer he does it, too,” whispered one.

The Dean turned to the man by his side.  “Patches, tell these men all that you told me about this business.”

When the cowboy had told his story in detail, up to the point where Phil came upon the scene, the Dean interrupted him, “Now, get down there an’ show us exactly how it happened after Phil rode on to you an’ Yavapai Joe.”

Patches obeyed.  As he was showing them where Phil stood when the shot was fired the Dean again interrupted with, “Wait a minute.  Tom, you get down there an’ stand just as Phil was standin’.”

The cattleman obeyed.

When he had taken the position, the Dean continued, “Now, Patches, stand like you was when Phil was hit.”

Patches obeyed.

“Now, then, where did that shot come from?” asked the Dean.

Patches pointed.

The Dean did not need to direct the next step in his demonstration.  Three of the men were already off their horses, and moving around the bushes indicated by Patches.

“Here’s the tracks, all right,” called one.  “An’ here,” added another, from a few feet further away, “was where he left his horse.”

“An’ now,” continued the Dean, when the three men had come back from behind the bushes, and with Patches had remounted their horses, “I’ll tell you somethin’ else.  I had a talk with Phil himself, an’ the boy’s story agrees with what Patches has just told you in every point.  An’, furthermore, Phil told me straight when I asked him that he didn’t know himself who fired that shot.”