XI

"We retired to a strategic position prepared in advance."

--_Communiques of the Crown Prince._

Charlie See was little known in the county seat. It was not his

county, to begin with, and his orbit met Hillsboro's only at the

intersection of their planes. Hillsboro was a mining town, first, last

and at all intervening periods. Hillsboro's "seaport," Lake Valley,

was the cowman's town; skyward terminus of the High Line, twig from a

branch railroad which was itself a feeder for an inconsiderable spur.

The great tides of traffic surged far to north and south. This was a

remote and sheltered backwater, and Hillsboro lay yet twelve miles

inland from Lake Valley. Here, if anywhere, you found peace and quiet;

Hillsboro was as far from the tumult and hurly-burly as a corner of

Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street.

Along the winding way, where lights of business glowed warm and

mellow, feverish knots and clusters of men made a low-voiced buzzing;

a buzzing which at See's approach either ceased or grew suddenly

clear to discussion of crossroads trivialities. From one of these

confidential knots, before the Gans Hotel, a unit detached itself

and strolled down the street.

"Howdy, Mr. See," said the unit as Charlie overtook it. "Which way

now?"

"Oh, just going round to the hardware store to get a collar button."

"You don't know me," said the sauntering unit. "My name is Maginnis."

"I withdraw the collar button," said Charlie. He slowed his step and

shot a glance at the grizzled face beside him. Who's Who in Cowland

has a well-thumbed page for Spinal Maginnis. "What's your will?"

"You arrested young Dines?"

"In a way, yes. I was with the bunch."

"It is told of you by camp fires," said Maginnis, "that you'll do to

take along. Will you come?"

"With you, yes. Spill it."

"For me. To do what I can't do for myself. You arrested Johnny Dines,

or helped; so you can go where I'm not wanted. Notice anything back

yonder?" He jerked his head toward the main street.

"Well, I'm not walking in my sleep this bright beautiful evening.

Whispering fools, you mean?"

"Exactly. Some knaves, too. But fools are worse always, and more

dangerous. This town is all fussed up and hectic about the Forbes

killing. Ugly rumors--Dines did this, Dines did that, Dines is a red

hellion. I don't like the way things shape up. There's a lot of

offscourings and riffraff here--and someone is putting up free whisky.

It's known that I was a friend of this boy's father, and it is

suspected that I may be interested in his father's son. But you--can't

you find out--Oh, hell, you know what I want!"

"Sure I do. You're afraid of a mob, with a scoundrel back of it.

Excuse me for wasting words. You're afraid of a mob. I'm your man.

Free whisky is where I live. Me for the gilded haunts of sin. Any

particular haunt you have in mind?"

"Sure I have. No need to go to The Bank. Joe is a pretty decent old

scout. You skip Joe's place and drop in at The Mermaid. Where they

love money most is where trouble starts."

"Where will I report to you?"

"You know Perrault's house?"

"With trees all round, and a little vineyard? Just below the jail?

Yes."

"You'll find me there, and a couple more old residenters. Hop along,

now."

The Mermaid saloon squatted in a low, dark corner of Hillsboro--even

if the words were used in the most literal sense.

Waywardly careless, Hillsboro checkered with alternate homes and

mines the undulations of a dozen low hills; an amphitheater girdled

by high mountain walls, with a central arena for commercial gladiators.

Stamp mills hung along the scarred hillsides, stamp mills exhibiting

every known variety of size and battery. In quite the Athenian manner,

courthouse, church and school crowned each a hill of its own,

and doubtless proved what has been so often and so well said of

our civilization. At any rate the courthouse cost more than the

school--about as much more as it was used less; and the church steeple

was such as to attract comment from any god. The school was less

imposing.

This was a high, rainy country. The frontier of the pines lay just

behind and just above the town, on the first upward slopes. The desert

levels were far below. Shade trees, then, can grow in Hillsboro; do

grow there by Nature and by artifice, making a joyous riot of visible

song--in the residential section. Industrial Hillsboro, however,

held--or was held?--to the flintier hills, bleak and bare and brown,

where the big smelter overhung and dominated the north. The steep

narrow valley of the Percha divided Hillsboro rather equally between

the good and the goats.

There was also the inevitable Mexican quarter--here, as ever,

Chihuahua. But if Hillsboro could claim no originality of naming, she

could boast of something unique in map making. The Mexican suburb ran

directly through the heart of the town. Then the Mexican town was the

old town? A good guess, but not the right one. The effective cause

was that the lordly white man scorned to garden--cowmen and miners

holding an equally foolish tradition on this head; while the humble

_paisano_ has gardened since Scipio and Hasdrubal; would garden in

hell. So the narrow bottom lands of the creek were given over to truck

patches and brown gardeners; tiny empires between loop and loop of

twisting water; black loam, pay dirt. It is curious to consider that

this pay dirt will be fruitful still, these homes will still be homes,

a thousand years after the last yellow dross has been sifted from the

hills.

So much for the town proper. A small outlying fringe lay below the

broad white wagon road twisting away between the hills in long curves

or terraced zigzags to the railhead. Here a flat black level of glassy

obsidian shouldered across the valley and forced the little river to

an unexpected whirling plunge where the dark box of the Percha led

wandering through the eastern barrier of hills; and on that black

cheerless level huddled the wide, low length of The Mermaid,

paintless, forbidding, shunning and shunned. Most odd to contemplate;

this glassy barren, nonproducing, uncultivated and unmined, waste and

sterile, was yet a better money-maker than the best placer or the

richest loam land of all Hillsboro. Tellurian papers please copy.

The Mermaid boasted no Jonson, and differed in other respects from The

Mermaid of Broad Street. Nor might it be reproached with any insidious

allure, though one of the seven deadly arts had been invoked. Facing

the bar, a startled sea maid turned her head, ever about to plunge to

the safety of green seas. The result was not convincing; she did not

look startled enough to dive. But perhaps the artist had a model.

Legend says the canvas was painted to liquidate a liquor bill, which

would explain much; it is hard paying for a dead horse. It had once

been signed, but some kindly hand had scraped the name away. In

moments of irritation Hillsboro spoke of The Mermaid as "The Dive."

"Johnny Dines--yah! Thought he could pull that stuff and get away with

it," said Jody Weir loudly. "Fine bluff, but it got called. Bankin'

on the cowmen to stick with him and get him out of it."

The Mermaid bar was crowded. It was a dingy place and a dingy crew.

The barkeeper had need for all his craft and swiftness to give

service. The barkeeper was also the owner--a tall man with a white

bloodless face, whiter for black brows like scars. The gambling hall

behind was lit up but deserted. The crowd was in too ugly a mood for

gambling. They had been drinking bad liquor, much too much for most of

them; headed by Weir, Caney and Hales, seconded by any chance buyer,

and followed up by the Merman, who served a round on the house with

unwonted frequency.

Jody pounded on the bar.

"Yes, that's his little scheme--intimidation. He's countin' on the

cowboys to scare Hillsboro out--him playin' plumb innocent of

course--knowin' nothin', victim of circumstances. Sure! 'Turn this

poor persecuted boy loose!' they'll say. 'You got nothin' on him.' Oh,

them bold bad men!"

"That don't sound reasonable, Jody," objected Shaky Akins. "Forbes

was a cowman. You're a cowman yourself."

"Yes--but I saw. These fellers'll hear, and then they'll shoot

off their mouths on general principles, not knowing straight up

about it; then they'll stick to what they first said, out of plumb

pig-headedness. One thing I'm glad of: I sure hope Cole Ralston likes

the way his new man turned out."

"Dines and Charlie See favor each other a heap. Not in looks so much,"

said Shaky, "but in their ways. I used to know Charlie See right well,

over on the Pecos. He was shortstop on the Roswell nine. He couldn't

hit, and he couldn't field, and he couldn't run bases--but oh, people,

how that man could play ball!"

"Nonsense. They're not a bit alike. You think so, just because they're

both little."

"I don't either. I think so because they're both--oh my!"

"I don't like this man See, either," said Caney. "I don't like a hair

of his head. Too damn smart. Somebody's going to break him in two

before he's much older."

"Now listen!" said Shaky Akins, without heat. "When you go to break

Charlie See you'll find he is a right flexible citizen--any man, any

time, anywhere."

"Well," said Hales, "all this talking is dry work. Come up, boys. This

one is on me."

"What will it be, gentlemen?" inquired the suave Merman. "One Scotch.

Yes. Three straights. A highball. Three rums. One gin sling. Make it

two? Right. Next? Whisky straight. And the same. What's yours, Mr.

Akins?"

"Another blond bland blend," said Shaky. "But you haven't answered my

question, Jody. Why should cowmen see this killing any different from

anyone else? Just clannishness, you think?"

"Because cowmen can read sign," said Charlie See. He stood framed in

the front door: he stepped inside.

The startled room turned to the door. There were nudges and whispers.

Talking ceased. There had been a dozen noisy conversations besides the

one recorded.

"Reading tracks is harder to learn than Greek, and more interesting,"

said Charlie. "Cattlemen have always had to read sign, and they've

always had to read it right--ever since they was six years old. What

you begin learning at six years old is the only thing you ever learn

good. So cowmen don't just look and talk. They see and think."

He moved easily across the room in a vast silence. Caney's eyes met

those of the Merman barkeeper. The Merman's bloodless and sinister

face made no change, but he made a change in the order.

"Step up, Mr. See," said the Merman. "This one's on me. What will it

be?"

"Beer," said Charlie. He nodded to the crowd. "Howdy, boys! Hello,

Shaky--that you?"

He lined up beside Shaky; he noted sly sidelong glances and furtive

faces reflected in the blistered mirror behind the bar.

"Sure is. Play you a game of pool--what?"

"All set?" demanded Caney from the other end of the bar. "Drink her

down, fellers! Here's to the gallows tree!"

"Looks like a good season for fruit," said Charlie. A miner laughed.

Shaky drained his glass. "Come on, pool shark." He hooked his arm in

Charlie's and they went back to the big hall. Part of the crowd

drifted after them.

There was only one pool table, just beyond the door. Down one side

were ranged tables for monte, faro, senate and stud. On the other side

the bar extended beyond the partition and took up twenty feet of the

hall, opposite the pool table. On the end of the bar were ranged

generous platters of free lunch--shrimps, pretzels, strips of toasted

bread, sausages, mustard, pickles, olives, crackers and cheese. Behind

it was a large quick-lunch oil stove, darkened now. Beyond that was

a vast oak refrigerator with a high ornamental top reaching almost

to the ceiling. Next in order was a crap table and another for

seven-and-a-half. A big heater, unused now, shared the central space

with the pool table. Between these last two was a small table littered

with papers and magazines. Two or three men sat there reading.

"Pretty quiet to-night?" said Charlie, nodding his chin at the sheeted

games.

"Yes. Halfway between pay days. Don't pay to start up," said Shaky

carelessly. "At that, it is quieter than usual to-night."

They played golf pool.

"It is not true that everyone who plays golf pool goes goopy,"

remarked Charlie at the end of the first game. "All crazy men play

golf pool, of course. But that is not quite the same thing, I hope.

Beware of hasty deductions--as the bank examiner told the cashier.

Let's play rotation."

Jody Weir stuck his head through the doorway. "Hey, you! I'm buying.

Come have a drink!"

Most of the loungers rose and went forward to the bar. The men at the

reading table did not move; possibly they did not hear. One was an

Australian, a simple-faced giant, fathoms deep in a Sydney paper; his

lips moved as he read, his eye glistened.

"Let's go up to the hotel," said Akins. "This table is no good. They

got a jim dandy up there. New one."

"Oh, this is all right," said Charlie. "I'll break. Say, Shaky, you've

seen my new ranch. What'll you give me for it, lock, stock and barrel,

lease, cattle and cat, just as she lays, everything except the saddle

stock? I'm thinking some about drifting."

"That's a good idea--a fine idea," said Shaky. He caught Charlie's

eye, and pointed his brows significantly toward the barroom. "Where

to?"

"Away. Old Mex, I guess. Gimme a bid."

Shaky considered while he chalked his cue. Then he shook his head.

"No. Nice place--but I wouldn't ever be satisfied there.... Mescaleros

held up a wagon train there in 1879--where your pasture is now,

halfway between your well and Mason's Ranch. Killed thirteen men and

one woman. I was a kid then, living at Fort Selden. A damn fool took

me out with the burial party, and I saw all those mutilated bodies. I

never got over it. That's why I'm Shaky Akins."

"Why, I thought--" began See uncomfortably.

"No. 'Twasn't chills. I'm giving it to you straight. I hesitated about

telling you. I've never told anyone--but there's a reason for telling

you--now--to-night. I lost my nerve. I'm not a man. See, I've dreamed

of those people ten thousand times. It's hell!"

Weir's head appeared at the door again; his face was red and hot.

"You, See! Ain't you comin' out to drink?"

"Why, no. We're playing pool."

"Well, I must say, you're not a bit--"

"I know I'm not a bit," said See placidly. "That's no news. I've been

told before that I'm not a bit. You run on, now. We're playing pool."

The face withdrew. There was a hush in the boisterous mirth without.

Then it rose in redoubled volume.

"Come up to the hotel with me," urged Shaky, moistening his lips. "I

got a date with a man there at ten. We can play pool there while I'm

waiting."

"Oh, I'll stay here, I guess. I want to read the papers."

"You headstrong little fool," whispered Akins. "Their hearts is

bad--can't you see? Come along!" Aloud he said: "If you get that ball

it makes you pool."

The door from the barroom opened and two men appeared. One, a heavy

man with a bullet head much too small for him, went to the free lunch;

the other, a dwarfish creature with a twisted sullen face, walked to

the Australian and shook him by the shoulder.

"Come on, Sanders. Say good night to the library. You're a married man

and you don't want to be in this." His voice had been contemptuously

kind so far; but now he snarled hatred. "Hell will be popping here

pretty quick, and some smart Aleck is going to get what's coming to

him. Oh, bring your precious 'pyper,' if you want to. Sim won't mind.

Come along--Larriken!"

The big man followed obediently.

"Part of that is good," observed Shaky Akins. "The part where he said

good night. I'm saying it."

He made for the back door. The other man at the reading table rose and

followed him.

"Good night, Shaky. Drop me a post hole, sometime," said Charlie.

The bullet-head man, now eating toast and shrimps, regarded See with

a malicious sneer. See rummaged through the papers, selected a copy

of The Black Range, and seated himself sidewise on the end of the

billiard table; then laying the paper down he reached for the triangle

and pyramided the pool balls.

The swinging door crashed inward before a vicious kick. Caney stalked

in. His pitted face was black with rage. Weir followed. As the door

swung to there was a glimpse of savage eager faces crowded beyond.

Caney glared across the billiard table.

"We're not good enough for you to drink with, I reckon," he croaked.

Charlie laid aside the triangle. The free lunch man laughed

spitefully. "Aren't you?" said Charlie, indifferently.

Caney raised his voice. "And I hear you been saying I was a gallows

bird?"

Charlie See adjusted a ball at the corner of the pyramid. Then he gave

to Caney a slow and speculative glance.

"Now that I take a good look at you--it seems probable, don't it?"

"Damn you!" roared Caney. "What do you mean?"

"Business!"

No man's eye could have said which hand moved first. But See was the

quicker. As Caney's gun flashed, a pool ball struck him over the

heart, he dropped like a log, his bullet went wide. A green ball

glanced from Jody's gun arm as it rose; the cartridge exploded

harmlessly as the gun dropped; Weir staggered back, howling. He struck

the swinging door simultaneously with the free-lunch man; and in that

same second a battering-ram mob crashed against it from the other

side. Weir was knocked sprawling; the door sagged from a broken hinge.

See crouched behind the heavy table and pitched. Two things happened.

Bullets plowed the green cloth of the table and ricocheted from the

smooth slate; bushels of billiard balls streamed through the open door

and thudded on quivering flesh. Flesh did not like that. It squeaked

and turned and fled, tramping the fallen, screaming. Billiard balls

crashed sickeningly on defenseless backs. In cold fact, Charlie See

threw six balls; at that close range flesh could have sworn to sixty.

Charlie felt rather than saw a bloodless face rise behind the bar; he

ducked to the shelter of the billiard table as a bullet grooved the

rail; his own gun roared, a heavy mirror splintered behind the bar:

the Merman had also ducked. Charlie threw two shots through the

partition. At the front, woodwork groaned and shattered as a six-foot

mob passed through a four-foot door. Charlie had a glimpse of the

crouching Merman, the last man through. For encouragement another

shot, purposely high, crashed through the transom; the Merman escaped

in a shower of glass.

"How's that, umpire?" said Charlie See.

The business had been transacted in ten seconds. If one man can cover

a hundred yards in ten seconds how many yards can forty men make in

the same time?

"Curious!" said Charlie. "Some of that bunch might have stood up to a

gun well enough. But they can't see bullets. And once they turned

tail--good night!"

He slipped along the rail to the other end of the table, his gun

poised and ready. Caney sprawled on the floor in a huddle. His mouth

was open, gasping, his eyes rolled back so that only the whites were

visible, his livid face twitched horribly. See swooped down on Caney's

gun and made swift inspection of the cylinder; he did the like by

Weir's, and then tiptoed to the partition door, first thrusting his

own gun into his waistband. The barroom was empty; only the diving

Mermaid smiled invitation to him. See turned and raced for the back

door. Even as he turned a gust of wind puffed through the open front

door and the wrecked middle door; the lamps flared, the back door

slammed with a crash.

With the sound of that slamming door, a swift new thought came to

See. He checked, halted, turned back. He took one look at the

unconscious Caney. Then he swept a generous portion of free lunch into

his hat and tossed it over the crowning woodwork of the ten-foot

refrigerator, with the level motion of a mason tossing bricks to his

mate. Caney's revolver followed, then Weir's and his own. He darted

behind the bar and confiscated a half-filled bottle of wine, the

appetizing name of which had won his approving notice earlier in the

evening. He stepped on a chair beside the refrigerator, leaped up,

caught the oaken edge of it, swung up with a supple twist of his

strong young body, and dropped to the top of the refrigerator, safe

hidden by the two-foot parapet of ornamental woodwork.

A little later two men sprang together through the front door; a

sloe-eyed Mexican and the dwarfish friend of the Australian giant.

They leaped aside to left and right, guns ready; they looked into the

gambling hall; they flanked the bar, one at each end, and searched

behind it.

Then the little man went to the door and called out scornfully: "Come

in, you damn cowards! He's gone!"

Shadowy forms grew out of the starlight, with whistlings, answered

from afar; more shadows came.

"Is Caney dead?" inquired a voice.

"Hell, I don't know and I don't care!" answered the little man

truculently. "I had no time to look at Caney, not knowing when that

devil would hop me. See for yourself."

The crowd struggled in--but not all of them. Weir came in groaning,

his face distorted with pain as he fondled his crippled arm. The

Merman examined Caney. "Dead, nothing," he reported. "Knocked out.

He won't breathe easy again for a week. Bring some whisky and a

pail of water. Isn't this fine? I don't think! Billiard table

ruined--plate-glass mirror shot to pieces--half a dozen men crippled,

and that damned little hell hound got off scot-free!"

"You mention your men last, I notice," sneered the little man. "Art

Price has got three of his back ribs caved in, and Lanning needs a

full set of teeth--to say nothing of them run over by the stampede.

Jiminy, but you're a fine bunch!"

They poured water on Caney's head, and they poured whisky down Caney's

throat; he gasped, spluttered, opened his eyes, and sat up, assisted

by Hales and the Merman.

"Here--four of you chaps carry Caney to the doc," ordered the Merman.

"Take that door--break off the other hinge. Tell doc a windlass got

away from him and the handle struck him in the breast. Tell him that

he stopped the ore bucket from smashing the men at the bottom--sob

stuff. Coach Caney up, before you go in. He's not so bad--he's coming

to. Fresh air will do him good, likely. Drag it, now."

"Say, Travis, I didn't see you doin' so much," muttered one of the

gangsters as Caney was carried away, deathly sick. He eyed the little

man resentfully. "Seems to me like you talk pretty big."

The little man turned on him in a fury.

"What the hell could I do? Swept up in a bunch of blatting bull calves

like that, and me the size I am? By the jumping Jupiter, if I could

have got the chance I would 'a' stayed for one fall if he had been the

devil himself, pitchfork, horns and tail! As it was, I'm blame well

thankful I wasn't stomped to death."

"All this proves what I was telling you," said Hales suavely. "If you

chaps intend to stretch Johnny Dines, to-night's the only time. If one

puncher can do this to you"--he surveyed the wrecked saloon with a

malicious grin--"what do you expect when the John Cross warriors get

here? It's now or never."

"Never, as far as I'm concerned," declared the bullet-headed man of

the free lunch. "I'm outclassed. I've had e-nough! I'm done and I'm

gone!"

"Never for me too. And I'm done with this pack of curs--done for all

time," yelped the little man. "I'm beginning to get a faint idea of

what I must look like to any man that's even half white. Little See is

worth the whole boiling of us. For two cents I'd hunt him up and kiss

his foot and be his Man Friday--if he'd have me. I begin to think

Dines never killed Forbes at all. Forbes was shot in the back, and

Shaky Akins says Dines is just such another as Charlie See. And Shaky

would be a decent man himself if he didn't have to pack soapstones.

I'll take his word for Dines. As sure as I'm a foot high, I've a good

mind to go down to the jail and throw in with Gwinne."

"You wouldn't squeal, Travis?" pleaded the Merman. "You was in this as

deep as the rest of us, and you passed your word."

"Yes, I suppose I did," agreed the little man reluctantly. Then he

burst into a sudden fury. "Damn my word, if that was all! Old Gwinne

wouldn't have me--he wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. I've kept

my word to scum like you till no decent man will believe me under

oath." He threw up his hands with a tragic gesture. "Oh, I've played

the fool!" he said. "I have been a common fool!"

He turned his back deliberately to that enraged crew of murderers and

walked the length of the long hall to the back door. From his hiding

place above the big refrigerator Charlie See raised his head to peer

between the interstices and curlicues of the woodwork so he might

look after this later prodigal. Charlie was really quite touched, and

he warmed toward the prodigal all the more because that evildoer had

wasted no regret on wickedness, but had gone straight to the root of

the matter and reserved his remorse for the more serious offense. This

was Charlie's own view in the matter of fools; and he was tolerant of

all opinion which matched his own. But Charlie did not wear a

sympathetic look; he munched contentedly on a cheese sandwich.

"Never mind Travis," said the Merman. "Let him go. The little fool

won't peach, and that's the main thing. I'm going after Dines now, if

we did make a bad start. There's plenty of us here, and I can wake up

two of my dealers who will stand hitched. And that ain't all. A bunch

from the mines will drop down for a snifter at eleven o'clock, when

the graveyard shift goes on and they come off. I'll pick out those I

can trust. Some of 'em are tough enough to suit even Travis--though I

doubt if they'd take any kinder to pool balls than you boys did--not

till they got used to 'em. I don't blame you fellows. Billiard balls

are something new."

"We want to get a move on, before the moon gets up," said Weir.

"Oh, that's all right! Lots of time. We'll stretch Mr. Dines, moonrise

or not," said the Merman reassuringly. "But we'll meet the night shift

at the bridge as they come off, and save a lot of time. Let's see

now--Ames, Vet Blackman, Kroner, Shaw, Lithpin Tham--"

On the refrigerator, Charlie See put by his lunch. He fished out a

tally book and pencil and began taking down names.

* * * * *

Charlie See raced to Perrault's door a little before eleven. He

slipped in without a summons, he closed the door behind him and leaned

his back against it. The waiting men rose to meet him--Perrault,

Maginnis, Preisser, and a fourth, whom Charlie did not know.

"Come on to the jail, Maginnis! The gang have closed up the Mermaid

and they are now organizing their lynchin' bee. We've just time to

beat 'em to it!"

"How many?" asked Perrault, reaching up for a rifle.

"You don't go, Perrault. This is no place for a family man."

"But, Spinal--"

"Shut up! No married man in this. Nor you, Preisser. You're too old.

Mr. See, this is Buck Hamilton. Shall we get someone else? Shaky

Akins? Where's Lull?"

"Lull is asleep. Let him be. Worn out. Akins is--we've no time for

Akins. Here's a plenty--us three, the jailer and Dines. Jailer all

right, is he?"

"Any turn in the road. Do you usually tote three guns, young feller?"

"Two of these are momentums--no, mementos," said Charlie. "I've been

spoiling the Egyptians. Spoiled some six or eight, I guess--and a

couple more soured on the job. That'll keep. Tell you to-morrow. Let's

go!"

"Vait! Vait!" said Preisser. "Go by my place--I'll gome vith you so

far--science shall aid your brude force. Perrault and me, you say, ve

stay here. Ve are not vit to sed in der vorevront of battles--vat?

Good! Then ve vill send to represend us my specimens. I haf two lufly

specimens of abblied psygology, galgulated to haf gontrolling

influence vith a mob at the--ah, yes!--the zoological moment! You vill

see, you vill say I am quide righdt! Gome on!"

* * * * *

"And they aim to get here sudden and soon?" Mr. George Gwinne smiled

on his three visitors benevolently. "That's good. We won't have long

to wait. I hate waiting. Bad for the nerves. Well, let's get a wiggle.

What you got in that box, Spinal? Dynamite?"

Spinal grinned happily.

"Ho! Dynamite? My, you're the desprit character, ain't you? Dynamite?

Not much. Old stuff, and it shoots both ways. We're up-to-date, we

are. This here box, Mr. Gwinne--we have in this box the last straw

that broke the camel's back. Listen!"

He held up the box. Gwinne listened. His smile broadened. He sat down

suddenly and--the story hates to tell this--Mr. Gwinne giggled. It was

an unseemly exhibition, particularly from a man so large as Mr.

Gwinne.

"Going to give Dines a gun?" inquired Hamilton.

Mr. Gwinne wiped his eyes. "No. That wouldn't be sensible. They'd

spring a light on us, see Dines, shoot Dines, and go home. But they

don't want to lynch us and they'll hesitate about throwing the first

shot. We'll keep Dines where he is."

He led the way to Johnny's cell. The conversation had been low-voiced;

Johnny was asleep. Gwinne roused him.

"Hey, Johnny! When is your friend coming to break you out?"

"Huh?" said Johnny.

"If he shows up, send him to the back door, and I'll let him in. We're

going to have a lynchin' bee presently."

"Why, that was me!" said Charlie.

"Oh, was it? Excuse me. I didn't recognize your voice. You was

speakin' pretty low, you see. I was right round the corner. Dog heard

you, and I heard the dog. Well, that's too bad. We could use another

good man, right now." Mr. Gwinne spoke the last words with some

annoyance. "Well, come on--let's get everything ready. You fellows had

better scatter round on top of the cells. I reckon the iron is thick

enough to turn a bullet. Anyhow, they can't see you. I'll put out the

light. I'm going to have a devil of a time to keep this dog quiet.

I'll have to stay right with him or he'll bark and spoil the effect."

"They're coming," announced Spinal Maginnis, from a window. "Walkin'

quiet--but I hear 'em crossin' the gravel."

"By-by, Dinesy," said See. "I've been rolling my warhoop, like you

said."

The jail was dark and silent. About it shadows mingled, scattered, and

gathered again. There was a whispered colloquy. Then a score of

shadows detached themselves from the gloom. They ranged themselves in

a line opposite the jail door. Other shadows crept from either side

and took stations along the wall, ready to rush in when the door was

broken down.

A low whistle sounded. The men facing the door came forward at a walk,

at a trot, at a run. They carried a huge beam, which they used as a

battering ram. As they neared the door the men by the jail wall

crowded close. At the last step the beam bearers increased their pace

and heaved forward together.

Unlocked, unbolted, not even latched, the door flung wide at the first

touch, and whirled crashing back against the wall; the crew of the

battering ram, braced for a shock, fell sprawling across the

threshold. Reserves from the sides sprang over them, too eager to note

the ominous ease of that door forcing, and plunged into the silent

darkness of the jail.

They stiffened in their tracks. For a shaft of light swept across the

dark, a trembling cone of radiance, a dancing light on the clump of

masked men who shrank aside from that shining circle, on a doorway

where maskers crowded in. A melancholy voice floated through the

darkness.

"Come in," said Gwinne. "Come in--if you don't mind the smoke."

The lynchers crowded back, they huddled against the walls in the

darkness beyond that cone of dazzling light.

"Are you all there?" said Gwinne. His voice was bored and listless.

"Shaw, Ellis, Clark, Clancy, Tucker, Woodard, Bruno, Toad Hales--"

"I want Sim!" announced Charlie See's voice joyously. "Sim is mine.

Somebody show me which is Sim! Is that him pushin' back toward the

door?"

A clicking sound came with the words, answered by similar clickings

here and there in the darkness.

"Tom Ross has got Sim covered," said the unhurried voice of Spinal

Maginnis. "You and Hiram Yoast be sure to get that big fellow in

front. I got my man picked."

A chuckle came from across the way. "You, Vet Blackman! Remember what

I told you? This is me--Buck Hamilton. You're my meat!"

"Oh, keep still and let me call the roll," complained Gwinne's

voice--which seemed to have shifted its position. "Kroner, Jody Weir,

Eastman, Wiley, Hover, Lithpin Tham--"

The beam of light shifted till it lit on the floor halfway down the

corridor; it fell on three boxes there.

From the outer box a cord led up through the quivering light. This

cord tightened now, and raised a door at the end of the box; another

cord tilted the box steeply.

"Look! Look! Look!" shrieked someone by the door.

Two rattlesnakes slid squirming from the box into that glowing

circle--they writhed, coiled, swayed. _Z-z-z--B-z-z-zt!_ The light

went out with a snap.

"Will you fire first, gentlemen of the blackguards?" said Gwinne.

Someone screamed in the dark--and with that scream the mob broke.

Crowding, cursing, yelling, trampling each other, fighting, the

lynchers jammed through the door; they crashed through a fence, they

tumbled over boulders--but they made time. A desultory fusillade

followed them; merely for encouragement.