That being so I guess I'm the most interested in running
these gophers, who are, to their holes. Well, that's what I'm going to
do. But I'm going to do it in my own way, and not under any man's
command. I've got a few dollars by me and so long as they last, and my
horse lasts out, I'm going to get busy. You're a man of intelligence,
so I guess you'll see my point. Anyway, I hunt alone."

It was a lucky thing for Jim Thorpe that he was dealing with a really
strong man, and a fearless one. One weak spot in the character of Doc
Crombie, one trifling pettiness, which could have taken umbrage at the
defiance of his authority, one atom of small-mindedness, whereby he
could have been influenced by the curious evidence against this man,
and the yelping hounds of Barnriff would have been let loose, and set
raging at his heels. As it was, Doc Crombie, whatever may have been
his faults, was before all things a man.

He turned from Jim with a shrug.

"Plain speakin's good med'cine," he said, glancing coldly over his
shoulder. "You've spoke a heap plain. So will I. Hit your own trail,
boy. But remember, this dogone rustler's got to be rounded up and
finished off as neat as a rawhide rope'll do it. If he ain't
found--wal, we're goin' to clear Barnriff of this trouble anyways. I
don't guess you need a heap of extry-ordinary understandin' to get my
meaning. You're gettin' a big chanct--why, take it. Gay," he said,
turning abruptly to the butcher, "I guess you'll make the tally of the
committee. We start out to-night."

CHAPTER XXIII

TERROR

Eve was alone. Never in all her life had she been so absolutely alone
as now. She rocked herself to and fro beside her kitchen stove, her
thoughts and fears rioting through body and mind, until she sat
shivering with terror in the warmth of her own fireside.

It was nearly nine o'clock in the evening and the vigilantes were due
back in the village before midnight. What would be their news?
What----? She paused, listening fearfully. But the sound she heard was
only a creaking of the frame of her little home.

The suspense was nerve racking. Would it never end? Yes, she felt it
would end--certainly, inevitably. And the conviction produced a fresh
shudder in her slight body. Three hours ago she had seen Jim Thorpe
and his jaded horse return to the village. She had longed to seek him
out--he had gone to Peter Blunt's hut for the night--and question him.
But she had refrained. Whatever