have any defence to make
you had better think it over. You'll walk back to Hanson's, Jake."

The prisoner mounted, and they slowly rode away into the darkness which,
now the moon had sunk, preceded the coming day.

It was two days later when Breckenridge, who had ridden a long way in the
meanwhile, rejoined them at a lonely ranch within a day's journey of the
railroad. Twelve men, whose bronzed faces showed very intent and grave
under the light of the big lamp, sat round the long bare room, and the
prisoner at the foot of a table. Grant stood at the head of it, with a
roll of dollar bills and a rifle in front of him.

"Now," he said, "you have heard the testimony. Have you anything to tell
us?"

"Well," said the prisoner, "I guess it wouldn't be much use. Hadn't you
better get through with it? I don't like a fuss."

Grant signed to the men, who silently filed out, and returned within a
minute. "The thing's quite plain," said one of them. "He killed Quilter."

Grant turned to the prisoner. "There's nothing that would warrant our
showing any mercy, but if you have anything to urge we'll listen now. It's
your last opportunity. You were heading for one of the cattle-men's
homesteads?"

The man smiled sardonically. "I'm not going to talk," he said. "I guess I
can see your faces, and that's enough for me."

Grant stood up and signed to a man, who led the prisoner away. Then, he
looked at the others questioningly, and a Michigan axe-man nodded.

"Only one thing," he said. "It has to be done."

There was an approving murmur, and Grant glanced along the row of stern
faces. "Yes," he said, "the law will do nothing for us--the cattle-men
have bought it up; but this work must be stopped. Well, I guess you like
what lies before us as little as I do, but if it warns off the others--and
there are more of his kind coming in--it's the most merciful thing."

Once more the low murmur ran through the silence of the room; Grant raised
his hand and a man brought in the prisoner. He looked at the set faces,
and made a little gesture of comprehension.

"I guess you needn't tell me," he said. "When is it to be?"

"To-morrow," said Grant, and it seemed to Breckenridge that his voice came
from far away. "At the town--as soon as there is light enough to see by."

The prisoner turned without a word, and when he had gone the men, as if
prompted by one impulse, hastened out of the room, leaving Grant and
Breckenridge alone. The former