“How d’ye like it?” Curly asked, coming up close to Reynolds.  “Having a good time, eh?  This is our picnic to-night.”

“So I see,” and the captive’s lips curled in a sarcastic smile.  “But just let me free for about five minutes, and then you’ll see whose picnic it is.”

“Not on yer life.  We’ve got ye sure now, an’ intend to keep ye that way until we’re through with ye.  What would yer little girlie say if she could see ye now?”

“To whom do you refer?”

“Oh, I guess you know, all right,” and Curly grinned.  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?  But she has no use for me.  She prefers a white-livered sucker like you.”

“Who was the big white-livered sucker during the war?” Reynolds retorted.  “I didn’t hide away in the hills like you did, Curly.  You are a coward, and you know it.”

“Who killed his pardner, though?” Curly snarled, for the prisoner’s words stung him to the quick.

“What do you mean?” Reynolds asked in surprise.

“Where is Frontier Samson?  What happened to the old man?”

Reynolds’ eyes grew big with amazement as the meaning of Curly’s words dawned upon his mind.  So these men believed that he had killed the prospector!  His face turned pale at the thought.  What could he say in self-defense?  Curly noted his embarrassment as well as the change of countenance, and he was greatly elated.

“Ye can’t deny it,” he charged.  “Look, boys,” he shouted.  “See the white streak about his gills.”

“Where ish Samson?” a blear-eyed man demanded, thrusting his whiskey-reeking mouth up close to Reynolds’ face.  “Where ish my old friend?”

Reynolds made no reply, although it was with difficulty that he restrained himself.  To try to explain to such men would be useless, he was well aware.  Others now surrounded him, who asked, not only about Samson, but about Jim Weston’s daughter.  They made the night hideous with their oaths and vile questions, until they seemed to Reynolds more like imps of the infernal regions let loose than human beings.  He saw that they were becoming more and more reckless as they talked, shouted, and quarrelled with one another, and he expected at any minute to see them turn upon him and inflict some bodily injury, and, perhaps, tear him to pieces.

All this pleased Curly immensely, as he stood a little aside and watched his followers.  His eyes seldom left the captive’s face, but he looked in vain for any show of weakness on Reynolds’ part.  This was not altogether to his liking.  He wished to see his victim show signs of fear, to cry aloud and plead for mercy.  He had done so himself, and he longed to find it in Reynolds that he might taunt him with weakness and cowardice.

When he had waited in vain for fully half an hour, he ordered the men to pile dry wood about the prisoner’s feet.  They readily obeyed, and all took part, anticipating some rare sport.