"I'm Buck Duane," he said. "I saw that placard--out there on a
sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to
see him."

His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the only effect
he noted, for he avoided looking at these villagers. The reason was
simple enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. There were
tears in his eyes. He sat down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees
and his hands to his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his
fate. This ignominy was the last straw.

Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion among
these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse voices, then the
shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked
his gun from its holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man, livid of face,
shaking like a leaf, confronted him with his own gun.

"Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!" he roared, waving the gun.

That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened
his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could
not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt
man, and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy.
He made no move, however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded
him, emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay hold of
his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even
if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from
his saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.

People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old
men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew.
The increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of
girls ran up, then hung back in fright and pity.

The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got
to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of
them lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to
stop the racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little
time before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.

"Shut up, will you-all?" he was yelling. "Give us a chance to hear
somethin'. Easy now--soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be hurt. Thet's
right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off."

This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong
personality, turned to