ave it. Innocent, it isn't
hospitable; guilty, we won't have him shot. The man that killed Adam
Forbes has got to hang."

Leaping, Charlie See's horse whirled on a pivot and faced the others.

"Speed up, Hobby, and tell that man we're holding all strangers, him
most of all. I'll hold this bunch. Beat it!"

His voice was low and drawling; he barred the way with quiet steady
eyes. The storm-drenched wind blew out his saddle strings, the fringed
edges of his gauntlets, the kerchief at his neck, the long tapideros
at his feet; it beat back his hat's broad brim, Stargazer's mane
snapped loose and level; horse and man framed against coming night and
coming storm in poised wild energy, centered, strong and tense.

"You darned little meddlesome whiffet!" snarled Jody Weir savagely, as
Lull galloped away.

See's gun hand lay at his thigh. "Talk all you like, but don't get
restless with your hands. I'm telling you! Meddlesome? That's me. Matt
is my middle name. Don't let that worry you any. I've got three good
reasons for meddling. I know two of you, and I don't know the other
one. I don't like waylaying--and I don't like you. Besides, I love to
meddle. Always did. Everybody's business is my business. You three
birds keep still and look sulky. Be wise, now! Me and a rattlesnake
has got the same motto: You touch the button and I'll do the rest."

Black above and furnace flame below, the tumbling clouds came rushing
from the hills with a mutter of far-off thunder. A glimmer of
twilight lingered, and sudden stars blazed across the half sky to
eastward, unclouded yet.

Hobby Lull cupped his hands and shouted through the dusk: "Hoo-e-ee!"

Johnny Dines halted the blue horse and answered blithely: "E-ee-hoo!"

"Sorry," said Lull as he rode up, "but I've got to put you under
arrest."

"Anything serious?"

"Yes, it is. A man was killed back there to-day."

"So you want my gun, of course. Here it is. Don't mention it. I've had
to hold strangers before now, myself."

"It isn't quite so vague as that--and I'm sorry, too," said Lull
awkwardly. "This man was killed in Redgate Canyon and you came through
there. I met you myself."

"Not that big red-headed chap I saw there?"

"That's the man."

"Hell, that's too bad. Acted like a good chap. He chinned with me a
while--caught up with me and gave me a letter to mail. Where do we
go--on or back? If you take me to the John Cross wagon to-morrow
they'll tell you I'm all right. D