y's eyes glowed with the unbridled fury of the lunatic. Yet Rafe
Bodson did not waver.

"Gentlemen," he demanded coldly, "for what purpose did you bring these
young fellows out here?"

"To lynch 'em!" came the hoarse murmur.

"Then go ahead and do it, like men," ordered Bodson. "There are the
trees. You have your ropes, and your men are ready. Remember, no
cowardly treatment of young fellows whose hands are tied. Go on with the
lynching and get it over with!"

CHAPTER XXI. A SPECIALIST IN "HONOR"

"Sir! Stop it, I tell you," quivered Duff, again stepping to the front.
"These young hounds shan't die until I've made them apologize for every
insulting word they've said to me."

"Fine!" glowed Tom with enthusiasm.

"Great!"

"What ails you now, Reade?" demanded Duff, his face again darkening.

"You've just promised us that we shall live forever," returned Tom
dryly.

Then he added, with a sigh:

"But I suppose that's only another lie--another specimen of a gambler's
honor."

"Stand aside, Bodson! Moore, you get out of the way!" snarled the
gambler, his anger again depriving him of all reason. "I'll have my way
with these young hounds before we string 'em up."

"Let me at 'em!" implored Ashby, fingering his shotgun nervously. "Get
out of my way. I don't want to pepper anyone else."

But Bodson and Moore, bad as they were some respects, stood their
ground.

"Are you going to let us at them?" insisted Duff, his voice now broken
and harsh from anger.

"Not for the purpose of bullying them!" insisted Rafe, without moving.
"Jeff, you're with me, aren't you?"

"Right by your side, pardner."

"Come on, then, boys!" called Duff, the note of rally in his tone. "Help
me to drive this pair of traitors out of your company."

Like a flash Bodson's revolver was in his band. The muzzle covered the
gambler.

"Jim Duff, down on your knees before I blow your bead off!"

The gambler started back, his face paling.

In the same instant Jeff Moore had also drawn his revolver, and held it
ready for the first hostile sign from anyone in the group.

"What's the matter with you, Rafe?" demanded the gambler, in a
half-coaxing tone.

"Nothing," Bodson assured him calmly, "except that I'm going to blow
your head off if you aren't down on your knees before I've counted
three! One--two--th--"

Duff dropped to his knees, holding his hands high in air.

"Now apologize for calling us traitors," admonished Rafe. "Do