doubly
dangerous for his irresponsibility, for his atrophied small
understanding.

Twenty miles lay between the prisoner and the doubtful security of the
jail at Meander, and most of the distance was through the grazing
lands within Chadron's bounds. On the other hand, it was not more than
twelve miles to his ranch on the river. He believed that he could
reach it before Chadron could raise men to stop him and take the
prisoner away.

Once home with Thorn, he could raise a posse to guard him until the
sheriff could be summoned. Even then there was no certainty that the
prisoner ever would see the inside of the Meander jail, for the
sheriff of that county was nothing more than one of Chadron's cowboys,
elevated to office to serve the unrighteous desires of the men who had
put him there.

But Macdonald was determined that there should be no private rope
party for Thorn, neither at the hands of the prisoner's employers nor
at those of the outraged settlers. Thorn must be brought to trial
publicly, and the story of his employment, which he appeared ready
enough to tell for the "glory" in it, must be told in a manner that
would establish its value.

The cruelly inhuman tale of his contracts and killings, his
engagements and rewards, must be sown by the newspapers far and wide.
Out of this dark phase of their oppression their deliverance must
rise.

CHAPTER X

"HELL'S A-GOIN' TO POP"

Chance Dalton, foreman of Alamito Ranch, was in charge of the
expedition that rode late that afternoon against Macdonald's homestead
to liberate Mark Thorn, and close his mouth in the cattlemen's
effective way upon the bloody secrets which he might in vainglorious
boast reveal. Chadron had promised rewards for the successful outcome
of the venture, and Chance Dalton rode with his three picked men in a
sportsman's heat.

He was going out on a hunt for game such as he had run down more than
once before in his many years under Chadron's hand. It was better
sport than running down wolves or mountain lions, for there was the
superior intelligence of the game to be considered. No man knew what
turn the ingenuity of desperation might give the human mind. The
hunted might go out in one last splendid blaze of courage, or he might
cringe and beg, with white face and rolling eyes. In the case of
Macdonald, Dalton anticipated something unusual. He had tasted that
unaccountable homesteader's spirit in the past.

Dalton was a wiry, toug