“Nope. Thanks, pard, I want to wait up for Thatcher,” and bidding his partner good night Vince went his way. Linc went to his room and to bed.

  The next morning to his dismay the two cowboys did not meet him for breakfast. He went up to Headly’s stables to find that sometime during the night they had saddled their horses and left town. Headly did not know whether or not they had left together. He now was becoming greatly perturbed. He had no idea what direction they had taken or on what errand they were bound. He wished he had not allowed Mel to become implicated in this deal with Kit, and he reluctantly compelled himself to wait. The hours passed slowly. Occasionally he stalked the streets, looking for his friends, but they did not come. Having omitted his lunch, he spent the afternoon with the merchant with whom he had placed his order the day before, and finally rounded out his necessary orders for supplies to his complete satisfaction, obtaining a generous discount on his bill of goods. He had supper alone, afterward walking the streets again from one gambling hall to another, hoping to meet Thatcher or Vince, but in vain. At midnight he returned to his lodgings. His range instinct prompted him to be ready for an emergency. He removed only his gun belt, boots and coat. Despite his worry, somehow he soon went to sleep. He seemed only to have closed his eyes when a loud pounding on the door roused him. He leaped off the bed. “Who is it?” he called, seizing the bar.

  “It’s Thatcher,” came the swift, hoarse whisper. “Let me in. There’s hell to pay.”

  Linc removed the bar and opened the door.

  “Hello, Mel,” he said. “Strike a match and make a light. You’ll find a candle on the stand there.”

  “Couldn’t get here sooner,” replied Thatcher. The candlelight flared up, revealing his pale, set face.

  The Nebraskan sat down upon the bed to pull on his boots. “Where’s Vince?” he asked.

  “I didn’t run into him but I have an idea that he was looking for me.”

  “What time is it?” asked Linc.

  “It’s an hour or two before dawn. We’ve got to do some fast riding, pard — and even then I’m afraid we’ll be too late.”

  “I felt that same way lately somehow,” replied Bradway. He got up and buckled on his gun belt. Then he got into his coat. “Where did I leave my sombrero? Hold up the candle, Mel.” He found it on the floor.

  “It’s good you didn’t undress,” said Thatcher. “We’ve got to rustle. I had to change horses so I saddled Bay while I was at the stables.”

  They went out together in the chill gloom. A few lamps were still burning along the main street; the resort that had been Emery’s was still blazing with light. Two horses were standing in the street, tossing their heads and champing their bits. Lincoln tried the cinch on Bay, then he turned to whisper hoarsely to Mel.

  “If we’ve got to ride, we won’t be able to talk. Gimme a hunch quick what you found out.”

  “Never mind how I found out, boss, I still have friends down there.... There’s an outfit of cattlemen — not many — hard and brutal men, sick with how they’ve been imposed upon and mad as hell at the cowboys, and those ranchers are out to get Emery and Kit.”

  “What are they going to do?” asked Linc.

  “Lord only knows, but I reckon they are prepared to take the law into their own hands.”

  “Do the cowboys know?”

  “Not many. They’ve been thrown off the scent. Vince knew all the time. It’s a sure bet he will turn up with some of them.”

  “I can guess the rest,” returned the Nebraskan grimly. “Let’s ride.”

  They mounted and headed down the street toward the creek, splashed across, then urged their mounts up the long slope that led to the pass. Thatcher led the way. Once on the road, they broke into a swinging lope. They crossed the pass in perhaps a quarter of an hour and were heading down the winding road on the valley side.

  “Look there!” cried Thatcher excited, reining in. “A bonfire!”

  “I see it,” replied Linc, reining in beside him. “That may mean we’re too late. Let’s rustle. Once we’re off this hill we’ve got straight clear road for ten or twelve miles.”

  Down the zigzag slope they saved their horses, and reaching the level they dismounted to tighten their cinches. Mounting again, they were off riding at a ground-eating lope. Lincoln allowed Thatcher to set the pace, and the way he handled his horse indicated the tenseness of the occasion. A long swinging lope led to a gallop, then to a dead run. The horses were fresh and fast. The night was cold, and the wind nipped Lincoln’s nose and ears. The road could be seen dimly, a pale streak leading off into the gloom. After covering several miles Thatcher reduced their gait to a trot but he did not give the horses a long stretch of rest. Soon the horses were going full speed through the night which was at that darkest hour which precedes the dawn. Three times Mel changed gaits and at the end of the last run the big bonfire seemed less than a mile away. He brought his horse sharply to a standstill, with Lincoln following suit.

  “Reckon this is — far enough,” panted Thatcher. “We sure made fast time. Now take a good look, Linc, and see what you can see.”

  Bradway already was peering through the darkness. “I can see the bonfire. Believe it’s located near some big trees at the edge of the timber.... There! I can make out some dark forms passing in front of the fire.”

  “Same here,” replied Thatcher. “That must be the outfit. It’s a sure bet the cowboys wouldn’t make any fire. Do you think we ought to get a closer look?”

  “Let’s cut off the road, keep out of sight and hearing, tie our horses in the willows, and sneak up on that outfit.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to ride down on them?” queried Thatcher. “If they mean business we haven’t got a lot of time.”

  “If it’s too late it’s too late,” said the Nebraskan somberly, “but I’ve been on some of these vigilante rides. They keep moving after dark and aim to do their work at daylight. We’ll take a chance.”

  “O.K. We’re probably outnumbered ten to one. So let’s keep our eyes peeled,” concluded Mel.

  They turned their heaving horses into the sage. Dawn was dose at hand. Already there were gray streaks in the east and the stars had dimmed. It was not long before the riders saw the low, dark line of timber encroaching upon the valley floor. When they had reached to within a couple of hundred yards of the fire they dismounted, both with the same thought, and stole forward, eyes and ears keen to detect any movement of horse or man. Reaching the willows, they led their horses some distance before tying them to convenient branches. They stepped into the open again. Thatcher suddenly gripped Bradway’s arm.

  “Hold it!” he whispered in Lincoln’s ear. “Listen.”

  They heard horses moving, then low voices. Mel glided ahead noiselessly, a couple of steps ahead of Linc. There were openings in the thicket and lanes spreading between the trees. Into one of these open places vanished Mel. Lincoln crept forward more cautiously until he caught up with Thatcher again. As they paused there in the shadow they heard the hoofbeats of several horses and low voices passing by.

  “Bunch of cowboys,” whispered Thatcher excitedly. “Let’s follow along. Don’t make any noise, Linc.”

  They reached the edge of the timber just as half a dozen horsemen were vanishing into the gray gloom. Apparently the bonfire had died down somewhat or else the brightening sky seemed to have dimmed its light. Keeping under cover of the trees Thatcher led his companion in swift pursuit. Linc did not look up. He watched where he was going so that he would not break a stick or step in a hole. Presently Mel stopped him and drew him into the shelter of some underbrush; they waited a while seeing and hearing nothing. After a tense moment of silence they heard the thud of hoofs moving forward again. Once more Thatcher glided forward with the Nebraskan at his heels. And again the two silent men came to a sudden halt. A group of riderless horses could be distinguished blackly etched between them and the dull glow of the firelight. The moving figures beyond appeared to be men pacing in front of the fire.

  “What’s become of those cowboys who passed us?” whispered Thatcher, worriedly. “I can’t hear them. Maybe they worked their way inside the willows. Let’s go.”

  Another tense interval of cautious advance brought them to a point where they could make out the dim shapes of moving horsemen.

  “Look,” whispered Mel. “There’s more of them than when we saw them first. Nine or ten.”

  “Not enough if they mean to ambush the cattlemen,” whispered Linc.

  “I don’t know. They might be crazy enough to do anything. But they’ll wait to see how many are in the vigilante bunch. What do you figure, Linc?”

  “I’m figuring hard but haven’t got anywhere,” replied Lincoln tensely. “It’s getting light. See that red in the sky up there?”

  “Pard, I reckon it’s a very appropriate color,” replied Thatcher ominously.

  “Meaning this bunch of cowboys are going to spill blood?”

  “It’s a safe bet. Don’t overlook the fact that Vince is in that bunch and it’s a hundred to one he’s leading them.”

  “Then we’ll go on following them. We can keep inside the willows all the way.”

  “All right. Let’s mosey on a little while longer, then have ourselves another look.”

  They confined themselves now to a slow, stealthy advance through the willows. They walked silently, carefully parting the brush and branches to be sure that they did not break any dead snags and constantly peering ahead cautiously, as they drew closer to the blazing fire. Linc recognized the spot: the big trees standing out in the open he had passed under so very recently. He tugged Mel’s sleeve and whispered to him that they were not more than a mile from the Bandon ranch.

  “One more spell like this last one and we’ll be getting somewhere,” returned Thatcher. “Take it easy now. I reckon we don’t want to be caught by these cowboys. When the fireworks start they won’t pay any attention to us, but we want to make damn sure we don’t get caught between their lines of fire.”

  According to the way Linc figured it they would soon be passing the spot where the cowboys ought to be, and it behooved them to be exceedingly cautious. When again they approached the edge of the thicket, the sky was light, though it still was dusky in the willow grove. The fire still glowed but not one of the men grouped about it made a move to throw on any more fuel. Linc looked back across the valley and noted that the sun had not yet risen above the farther wall.

  “Let’s get a little closer,” whispered Mel.

  They crossed a projecting neck of the timbered bottom to come out almost at the spot where the group of cattlemen waited. They were a little too close for comfort. One of the group was pointing in the direction of the Bandon ranch. All of the men showed sudden animation, as another of the men started for the place where the horses were tethered.

  Suddenly Thatcher seized Linc’s arm in a grasp so tight that he winced with pain. “Godamighty!” he gasped. “Look, pard — look!”

  A group of horsemen in a half-circle were bringing two bare- headed riders, with hands bound behind them, across the flat toward the three big trees and the waiting men. “By Judas priest,” Linc whispered hoarsely. “That’s Kit — and Emery.”

  “Yes, and it looks bad, Linc.”

  The Nebraskan had seen many a posse of riders move along in that sinister, businesslike manner half surrounding their prisoners. He knew what it meant — the law of the range once more was being fulfilled.

  “Pard, it wouldn’t have done any good if we’d gotten here sooner,” whispered Mel. “This outfit of cowmen are hell-bent on execution.”

  Linc knew that Mel was right. It was hard to believe that these desperate men could drive themselves to execute a woman. Emery, yes, but a woman — ! His heart sank.

  But the practical Thatcher was less moved. “We can get closer presently. Pretty soon these cowmen will be so intent on their dirty job that they won’t hear us.... I’m just wondering what Vince and those hombres back yonder in the willows will do. If I know him and them they’ll ride right up on this bunch.”

  Lincoln had no heart to reply. There were ten men in the party approaching. That made twenty-three of the vigilantes in all. Each of them wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. Blue handkerchiefs masked the lower part of their faces. Lincoln’s keen sight did not miss the fact that they were all heavily armed. They moved forward silently with almost mechanical precision, and halted under the biggest trees just beyond the pile of embers that had been the fire, where they were met by the cowmen, now mounted, who had been waiting for them. The two watchers were conscious of sounds off to their left in the willows. Mel pointed over his shoulder. “Those fool cowboys are going to rush the cowmen’s party. They’re going to get themselves killed for their pains,” he muttered.

  Now the two groups of cattlemen had come together, and under cover of the confusion Linc and Mel crawled closer to a point where they were only fifty paces from this sinister company and easily within hearing. Some of the vigilantes were already on foot and several of the men dismounted to meet them. A tall man with the shape and movement of the rancher Lee appeared to be the leader.

  “Are we all here?” he asked sharply.

  “All here, Captain, but there’s a few riders prowling around.”

  “We can’t let them hold us up now,” returned the leader. “Now Emery, it’s time for you to talk.” He turned away from the two mounted prisoners and said, “Men, I promised the gambler freedom if he’d tell us what we want to know. We want the proofs.”

  “Let’s rustle, boss, and get it over with,” spoke up another gruffer voice.

  The Nebraskan did not want to look but he was forced to against his will. The two prisoners were in plain sight. The sun had risen and gold and red light bathed the valley in its mellow glow. The sage rippled with the morning breeze. Lincoln saw Emery astride his horse, his hands bound behind him, his dark face haggard and drawn. The other rider was Kit Bandon. She wore a long black coat, evidently hastily thrown over her sleeping gown. Her white bare feet dangled above the stirrups which she could not reach. Her white face and black hair made a striking contrast in the morning light. Her eyes appeared like great black wells that emphasized her pallor. Lincoln’s gaze could discern no terror, no cringing in her appearance. Her white face with its scornful eyes was averted from the terrified man beside her.

  “Emery, come out with your evidence,” rasped the leader, stridently.

  “I was her partner in plenty of cattle deals,” replied the gambler, his voice little louder than a hoarse whisper.

  “He’s a low-down liar,” cried Kit scornfully. “I had no partner in my cattle deals.”

  “She corrupted — the cowboys! She ruined them,” cried Emery desperately, his voice cracking. “She got them to steal for her. She paid them with money — and — and in other ways. Her bargain was the same with all. She sold herself!”

  “Kit Bandon, what have you to say to that?” queried the leader.

  “I have given you my answer. You can believe what you wish,” was her cold rejoinder, uttered between clenched teeth.

  “Men, you’ve heard. We have the proofs. We’re justified.... Somebody cut Emery’s arms loose and let him go.”

  Two stalwart men approached Emery and freed him from his bonds. One of them gave the horse a resounding smack on the flank.

  “Rustle, you skunk, before we change our minds,” called one of the men.

  Emery, with convulsed visage and trembling jaw, reined his horse from the group confronting him, and had just gotten beyond the farthest of the three trees when he was met there by the charging cowboys. They barred his escape. Then things began to happen.

  Linc caught a look of surprise on several of the faces of the cattlemen. Then he heard the whistle of a rope and a dull crack as the noose pulled tight about Emery’s neck. His sudden scream of terror was cut short. His body jerked backward off his horse and fell to the earth. At the same instant the cowboy with the lasso flicked the other end over the spreading branch of a willow. As he did so he shouted some command to his companions. Linc recognized that voice. It was the voice of his partner Vince. Three cowboys were out of their saddles in a twinkling. They grasped the dangling rope and with a violent tug jerked the body of the gambler five feet off the ground. Just as quickly and silently they made the end of the lasso fast to a sapling and then leaped into their saddles again.

  The vigilantes, as though paralyzed by the speed of the action that had taken place before their eyes, gaped at the grotesque figure of the gambler. They made no move to interfere with what was going on. Perhaps they thought, as did Linc and Mel, that only justice was being meted out under that willow tree.

  The cowboys were strangely silent. They watched Emery jerk spasmodically, shrugging off the black overcoat he had been wearing. The convulsive movements must have lasted several moments. Then the body was still, stretched limp, moving to and fro with the swaying branch. The slanting beams of the early sunlight touched the dark face of the dead man, adding a touch of horror to the stark scene. Bradway turned his eyes away from the dead man to the calm figure of the other prisoner. If she had witnessed Emery’s brutal hanging, there was no evidence of it on her countenance. Her eyes blazed straight ahead in that white mask that was her face.

  At that moment the harsh voice of the leader of the cattlemen rang out.

  “Kit Bandon, we condemn you to hang for your proven crimes!”

  The words of doom seemed still to be trembling in the still morning air when there was a sudden movement behind the group of cattlemen. Linc had torn himself free from Thatcher’s restraining grasp and was stumbling forward in the direction of the half- circle of vigilantes.

  “Wait, men! Wait! You can’t do this!” he cried as he ran forward, his empty hands held high.

  There was a stir among the men and several exclamations and muttered threats. Now Linc was facing the leader.

  “You men don’t know what you are doing,” he said in a clear, steady voice which all could hear. “You represent law and order in this country. You can’t hang a woman in cold blood. Some of you have wives and daughters. If this woman has plotted with these reckless, simple-minded cowpokes to steal your stock, then she deserves to be punished. But you don’t have to turn yourselves into beasts to exact your punishment. You can’t hang a woman — a neighbor — like a — like a dog,” he pleaded earnestly.

 

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