No, no, let me go! Hand me over to the sheriff!" Patterson had suddenly grasped both the hands of the picturesque scamp before him, with an affection that for an instant almost shamed the man who had ruined him.

But Tucker's egotism whispered that this affection was only a recognition of his own superiority, and felt flattered.

He was beginning to believe that he was really the injured party.
"What I _have_ and what I have _had_ is yours, Spence," returned Patterson, with a sad and simple directness that made any further discussion a gratuitous insult.

"I only wanted to know what you reckoned to do here." "I want to get over across the Coast Range to Monterey," said Tucker.
"Once there, one of those coasting schooners will bring me down to Acapulco, where the ship will put in." Patterson remained silent for a moment.

"There's a mustang in the corral you can take--leastways, I shan't know that it's gone--until to-morrow afternoon.