's deader than a salt mackerel!" came the
word, leaping from lip to lip.

Sheriff Warde grinned. "Serves him right," he declared; "that's one
less for us to hang!"

CHAPTER XXXI

THE FUGITIVE

After the departure of Barney Owen and Mary Bransford, the Double A
ranchhouse was as silent as any house, supposed to be occupied by a
dead man, could be.

But after a few minutes, if one had looked over the top of the
partition from which Owen had hanged Alva Dale, one might have seen
Dale move a little. One might have been frightened, but if one had
stayed there, it would have been to see Dale move again.

The first time he moved he had merely placed his feet upon the floor,
to rest himself. The second movement resulted in him raising his
smashed hands and lifting the noose from his neck.

He threw it viciously from him after removing it, so that it flew over
the top of the partition and swished sinuously upon the floor of the
kitchen.

For Barney Owen had not done a good job in hanging Dale. For when
Barney had run across the kitchen with the rope, to tie it to the
fastenings of the door, it had slacked a little, enough to permit
Dale's toes to touch the floor of the pantry.

Feeling the slack, Dale had taken advantage of it, throwing his head
forward a little, to keep the rope taut while Owen fastened it. All
that had been involuntary with Dale.

For, at that time Dale had had no thought of trying to fool Owen--he
had merely taken what chance had given him. And when the first shock
of the thing was over he had begun his attempts to reach the top of the
partition in order to slacken the rope enough to get it over his
head--for at that time he did not know that already the rope was slack
enough.

It was not until after his hands had been smashed and he had dropped to
the floor again, that he realized that he might have thrown the rope
off at once.

Then it was too late for him to do anything, for he felt Owen above
him, at the top of the partition, and he thought Owen had a gun. So he
feigned strangulation, and Owen had been deceived.

And when Owen had entered the pantry, Dale still continued to feign
strangulation, letting his body sag, and causing a real pressure on his
neck. He dared not open his eyes to see if Owen had a weapon, for then
the little man, having a gun, would have quickly finished the work
that, seemingly, the rope had begun.

Dale might have drawn his own gun, taking a long