.
Each party kept to its own side, the Democrats on the east and the
Republicans on the west, and each constantly watched the other. The
women had all disappeared from Main street, gone scuttling home like
fowls, rushing to cover from a hailstorm, and the whole town was in a
state of strained expectancy, waiting for the battle to begin. When
the three friends came walking leisurely down the street, there were
nods and meaning glances on the Republican side and excited whispers
of "There they are!" "They are ready for work!" "That's what they are
all here together for!" "We'd better get ready for them!"

On the Democratic side of the street it was declared that this was a
scheme of the cattle company to get Mead away from his ranch, so they
could do as they liked at the round-up, and that the Republicans had
planned the whole story of Will Whittaker's disappearance in order
that they might arrest Mead, kill him if he resisted, and inaugurate a
general slaughter of the Democrats if they should come to his help.

The three friends went at once to the office of Judge Harlin, who was
Mead's lawyer, and Harlin and Mead had a long conference in private,
while Ellhorn and Tuttle talked on the sidewalk with the changing
groups of men. Beyond the surprised inquiry which each had darted into
the eyes of the other when they were first told of Whittaker's
disappearance, neither Tom Tuttle nor Nick Ellhorn had said a word to
each other, or exchanged a meaning look, as to the possibility of
Mead's guilt. They did not know whether or not he had killed the
missing man, and, except as a matter of curiosity, they did not
particularly care. If he had, they knew that either of them would have
done the same thing in his place. Whatever he might have done, he was
their friend and in trouble, and they would have put on belts and guns
and rushed to his assistance, even though they had known they would be
dropped in their tracks beside him.

CHAPTER IV

Pierre Delarue, "Frenchy" Delarue, as all Las Plumas called him, had
been born and brought up in the south of France, whence he had
wandered to many parts of the earth. He had married and lived for
years in England, and, finally, he had come to Las Plumas with his
invalid wife in the hope that its healing airs might restore her to
health. But she had died in a few months, and he, perhaps because the
flooding sunshine and the brilliant skies of the southwestern plains
reminded him of