The Border Legion

"Jim, how about guns?" asked the bandit.

"I've got two," replied Cleve.

"Good! There's no telling--Jim, I'm afraid of the gang. They're

crazy. What do you think?"

"I don't know. It's a hard proposition."

"We'll get away, all right. Don't worry about that. But the gang

will never come together again." This singular man spoke with

melancholy. "Slow up a little now," he added. "We don't want to

attract attention. ... But where is there any one to see us? ... Jim,

did I have you figured right about the Creede job?"

"You sure did. I just lost my nerve."

"Well, no matter."

Then Kells appeared to forget that. He stalked on with keen glances

searching everywhere, until suddenly, when he saw round a bend of

the road, he halted with grating teeth. That road was empty all the

way to the other end of camp, but there surged a dark mob of men.

Kells stalked forward again. The Last Nugget appeared like an empty

barn. How vacant and significant the whole center of camp! Kells did

not speak another word.

Joan hurried on between Kells and Cleve. She was trying to fortify

herself to meet what lay at the end of the road. A strange, hoarse

roar of men and an upflinging of arms made her shudder. She kept her

eyes lowered and clung to the arms of her companions.

Finally they halted. She felt the crowd before she saw it. A motley

assemblage with what seemed craned necks and intent backs! They were

all looking forward and upward. But she forced her glance down.

Kells stood still. Jim's grip was hard upon her arm. Presently men

grouped round Kells. She heard whispers. They began to walk slowly,

and she was pushed and led along. More men joined the group. Soon

she and Kells and Jim were hemmed in a circle. Then she saw the huge

form of Gulden, the towering Oliver, and Smith and Blicky, Beard,

Jones, Williams, Budd, and others. The circle they formed appeared

to be only one of many groups, all moving, whispering, facing from

her. Suddenly a sound like the roar of a wave agitated that mass of

men. It was harsh, piercing, unnatural, yet it had a note of wild

exultation. Then came the stamp and surge, and then the upflinging

of arms, and then the abrupt strange silence, broken only by a hiss

or an escaping breath, like a sob. Beyond all Joan's power to resist

was a deep, primitive desire to look.

There over the heads of the mob--from the bench of the slope--rose

grotesque structures of new-hewn lumber. On a platform stood black,

motionless men in awful contrast with a dangling object that doubled

up and curled upon itself in terrible convulsions. It lengthened

while it swayed; it slowed its action while it stretched. It took on

the form of a man. He swung by a rope round his neck. His head hung

back. His hands beat. A long tremor shook the body; then it was

still, and swayed to and fro, a dark, limp thing.