Part 12

"The Señora's right," broke in the Captain. "Come into the house and when you've--" but his sentence was cut short by the sharp report of a pistol, followed in quick succession by two other shots, and a moment later a man, breathless and without coat or hat, and his shirt and trousers in tatters, rushed among them.

"Hide me quick, somebody!" he cried. "For God's sake--the posse--" but before he could finish, a troop of men, armed with six-shooters and Winchester rifles, burst from the cover of bushes that lined the highroad.

"There he is yonder, boys, behind that man!" cried their leader excitedly, a small, thick-set, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and beard and florid complexion. The others, following the direction indicated by him, seized the fugitive who had taken refuge behind Captain Forest and dragged him hurriedly beneath one of the cottonwood trees, over a lower branch of which they flung a rope. Their work was so expeditious that, before the spectators could realize what was happening, they had bound his hands behind his back and fastened one end of the rope about his neck.

"Stand clear, everybody!" commanded the leader, his gaze sweeping the throng. Then turning to his men, he said: "When I give the word, boys, let him swing!"

"Don't, boys--don't!" cried the prisoner in a despairing, supplicating voice, dropping on his knees. "For God's sake--give me a chance--" but a jerk of the rope cut short his words which ended in an inarticulate gurgle in his throat.

"They are going to hang him--it's murder!" gasped Mrs. Forest, clinging to her trembling, terrified maid who was already on the verge of fainting.

"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, stepping forward, "I object to such an unheard-of proceeding! You have no right to hang a man without a trial."

"Say, old punk," cried the leader, turning savagely on the Colonel, "who's a runnin' this show?" The well-delivered blow of a sledge-hammer could not have been more crushing in its effect on the Colonel than were the words of the leader; he was completely silenced. Greatly to his credit, however, he stood his ground. He was no coward, for he had faced death and been wounded more than once in his younger days on the field of battle, and had he possessed a weapon at the moment, he would have snuffed out the leader's life as deliberately as he would have blown out the light of a candle, regardless of consequences. But recognizing the carrion with which he had to deal, and the futility of further interference, he quietly shrugged his shoulders, smiled and pulled the end of his mustache. The hanging might proceed so far as he was concerned.

"Gentlemen," spoke up the Captain, "what has this man done?"

"You'll learn that when we're through with him!" replied the leader.

Even were there no doubt of the prisoner's guilt and hanging a well-deserved punishment, Captain Forest, nevertheless, liked fair play. The blood surged to his face. His fighting instincts and spirit of resentment were thoroughly aroused. He had seen men hanged and shot down before in the most summary manner, some of them afterward proving to have been victims of gross error and brute passion. He also knew how futile it was to argue with men whose passions were roused to the fighting pitch. The Colonel's interference was an instance of how little such men could be influenced. It was absurd to look for moderation under the circumstances. There was only one way to save the prisoner--the use of the same means employed by the lynchers, namely, force. Whence could such interference come? How could a man single-handed cope with a well-armed body of men of their type? Only a miracle could save the prisoner and the intervention of a miracle is always a slender prop upon which to lean.

"Now, boys," continued the leader, turning to his men, "get ready--" but his voice was drowned by a chorus of cries and screams from the women.

"Silence!" he roared. "Stop that damn noise!"

"I would like to know, sir, who gave you authority to shut our mouths?" and Blanch Lennox planted herself squarely before him. So astonished was he by her sudden appearance and outburst, that he fell back a pace. He seemed to have lost his voice, and only after much hemming and hawing, managed to stammer an awkward apology while vainly endeavoring to conceal his embarrassment.

"Ladies," he finally began, removing his hat in an attempt at politeness, "I'm powerful sorry to be obliged to perform this painful duty contrary to your wishes, but the law must be obeyed. We've been a chasin' this feller, who's the most notorious scoundrel in the country, through the mountains for the last three weeks, and now we've got him, I reckon we ain't a goin' ter let him get away. Is we, boys?" and he turned confidently to his men.

"You bet we ain't!" they responded.

"No, ladies," echoed their leader in turn, "not if we know it. Besides, we've got permission from the Mexican authorities to do with him as we like. I guess," he added, "they'll be about as glad to be rid of him as we are. And now, ladies," he continued, "if you don't want to witness as pretty a hanging as ever took place in these parts, you'll take my advice and retire into the house as soon as possible."

But no one stirred. The tall handsome woman still stood before him unmoved, and he was beginning to realize that her gaze was becoming more difficult to meet. Somewhat disconcerted, he began again in his most persuasive tone.

"Ladies, please don't interrupt the course of the law by staying around here any longer than's necessary--for hang he will!" he added.

Still no one showed the slightest sign of complying with his wishes. The situation was becoming intolerable.

"Ladies," he began again, and this time rather peremptorily, "you'll greatly oblige us by retiring at once."

"We'll not move a step until you take the rope from that man's neck," said Blanch firmly and unabashed, still holding her ground. Her words acted like a challenge. His temper was thoroughly roused, it being a question whether he or a lot of women should have their way. He, Jim Blake, overpowered by a mob of sentimental, hysterical women--not while he lived!

"Then, ladies," he answered curtly, placing his hat firmly on his head, "if you won't go into the house, you'll have to see him swing, that's all!" and quickly detailing half his men who lined up before the spectators with cocked rifles, he shouted to the others behind them holding the rope: "Boys, when I count three, do your work!" There was no mistaking his words. The prisoner uttered a half-articulate groan.

"One--" slowly counted Blake.

The Mexicans crossed themselves and began to mutter prayers. Women screamed.

"Two--three--" but simultaneously with the word three, was heard the report of a pistol, and the men pulling on the rope rolled on the ground, a hopelessly entangled mass of arms and legs. The rope had been severed just above the prisoner's head, and when the smothered oaths of the men mingled with the screams of the women had subsided, Dick Yankton with pistol in hand was seen leaning out over the veranda rail.

"I reckon there won't be any hanging at the old Posada this morning, Jim Blake," he said, calmly covering the latter with his weapon.

"Well, darn my skin!" gasped Blake. "Where did you come from?"