'em, an', what's more, owin' blind hulks a whole heap o' bills
on mortgage. Say, that was mostly a weak move him askin' the boss fer
help. Why, I guess old Marbolt hates hisself on'y one shade wuss'n he
hated Manson Orr. Say, boys, ef we're askin' to lynch Red Mask, we
ain't askin' in any fancy name like 'Orr.' Savee?"

There was silence for a moment while they digested the wisdom of the
suggestion. Then Jacob Smith nodded, and Lew Cawley murmured--

"Dead gut every time, is Joe."

This loosened their tongues again until Tresler spoke.

"See here, boys, you're talking of lynching, and haven't a notion of
how you're going to get your man. Don't even know where to lay hands
on him. Do you think Marbolt's going to turn us all loose on the
war-path? Not he. And how are two or three of us going to get a gang
of ten or twelve? Besides, I believe it'll be easier to get him
without a lynching party. Remember he's no ordinary cattle-rustler. I
say lie low, he'll come our way, and then----"

"That's it, lie low," broke in Joe Nelson, shaking his gray head over
a pannikin of tea, and softly blowing a clearing among the dead flies
floating on its surface. "Maybe y' ain't heard as the sheriff's come
around Forks. Guess he's fixed a station ther'."

"He's already done so?" asked Tresler.

"Yup."

"By Jove! The very thing, boys. Don't roll up. Don't do any lynching.
The sheriff's the boy for Red Mask."

But Arizona, backed by Raw Harris, would have none of it. They were of
the old-time stock who understood only old-time methods, and cordially
resented any peaceful solution to the difficulty. They wanted a
lynching, and no argument would dissuade them. And after much
discussion it was Arizona's final word that carried the day.

"Now, you see, Tresler," he said huskily, for his voice was tired with
sustained effort. "You're the remarkablest smart 'tenderfoot' that
ever I see. Say, you're a right smart daddy--an' I ain't given to
latherin' soap-suds neither. But ther's suthin's I calc'late that no
'tenderfoot,' smart as he may be, is goin' to locate right. Hoss
thieves is hoss thieves, an' needs stringin'. Ther' ain't nuthin' for
it but a rawhide rope fer them fellers. Guess I've seen more'n you've
heerd tell of. Say, boys, who's goin' to see the boss? Guess he's
right ther' on the verandah."

Though there was no verbal reply as the wild American turned to move
off, there was a general movement to follow him. Raw Harris star