The Lure of the Dim Trails by B. M. Bower (e novels for free TXT) 📕

matter to settle up with those jaspers. Bob MacGregor was one of us, yuh remember.”

“I'll hang 'em just as dead as you can,” Lauman argued.

“But yuh won't do it so quick,” Park lashed back. “They're spoiling the air every breath they draw. We want 'em, and I guess that pretty near settles it.”

“Not by a damn sight it don't! I've never had a man took away from me yet, boys, and I've been your sheriff a good many years. You hike right back to camp; yuh can't have 'em.”

Thurston could scarcely realize the deadliness of their purpose. He knew them for kind-hearted, laughter-loving young fellows, who would give their last dollar to a friend. He could not believe that they would resort to violence now. Besides, this was not his idea of a mob; he had fancied they would howl threats and wave bludgeons, as they did in stories. Mobs always “howled and seethed with passion” at one's doors; they did not stand about and talk quietly as though the subject was trivial and did not greatly concern them.

But the men were pressing closer, and their very calmness, had he known it, was ominous. Lauman shifted his rifle ready for instant aim.

“Boys, look here,” he began more gravely, “I can't say I blame yuh, looking at it from your view-point. If you'd caught these men when yuh was out hunting 'em, you could uh strung 'em up—and I'd likely uh had business somewhere else about that time. But yuh didn't catch 'em; yuh give up the chase and left 'em to me. And yuh got to remember that I'm the one that brought 'em in. They're in my care. I'm sworn to protect 'em and turn 'em over to the law—and it ain't a question uh whether they deserve it or not. That's what I'm paid for, and I expect to go right ahead according to orders and hang 'em by law. You can't have 'em—unless yuh lay me out first, and I don't reckon any of yuh would go that far.”

“There's never been a man hung by law in this county yet,” a voice cried angrily and impatiently.

“That ain't saying there never will be,” Lauman flung back. “Don't yuh worry, they'll get all that's coming to them, all right.”

“How about the time yuh had 'em in your rotten old jail, and let 'em get out and run loose around the country, killing off white men?” drawled another-a Circle-Bar man.

“Now boys.”

A hand—the hand of him who had stood guard over the Wagners in the bedroom during supper—reached out through the doorway and caught his rifle arm. Taken unawares from behind, he whirled and then went down under the weight of men used to “wrassling” calves. Even old Lauman was no match for them, and presently he found himself stretched upon the porch with three Lazy Eight boys sitting on his person; which, being inclined to portliness, he found very uncomfortable.

Moved by an impulse he had no name for, Thurston snatched the sheriff's revolver from its scabbard. As the heap squirmed pantingly upon the porch he stepped into the doorway to avoid being tripped, which was the wisest move he could have made, for it put him in the shadow—and there were men of the Circle Bar whose trigger-finger would not have hesitated, just then, had he been in plain sight and had they known his purpose.

“Just hold on there, boys,” he called, and they could see the glimmer of the gun-barrel. Those of the Lazy Eight laughed at him.

“Aw, put it down, Bud,” Park admonished. “That's too dangerous a toy for you to be playing with—and yuh know damn well yuh can't hit anything.”

“I killed a steer once,” Thurston reminded him meekly, whereat the laugh hushed; for they remembered.

“I know I can't shoot straight,” he went on frankly, “but you're taking that much the greater chance. If I have to, I'll cut loose—and there's no telling where the bullets may strike.”

“That's right,” Park admitted. “Stand still, boys; he's more dangerous than a gun that isn't loaded. What d'yuh want, m'son?”

“I want to talk to you for about five minutes. I've got a game leg, so that I can neither run nor fight, but I hope you'll listen to me. The Wagners can't get away—they're locked up, with a deputy standing over them with a gun; and on top of that they're handcuffed. They're as helpless, boys, as two trapped coyotes.” He looked down over the crowd, which shifted uneasily; no one spoke.

“That's what struck me most,” he continued. “You know what I thought of Bob, don't you? And I didn't thank them for boring a hole in my leg; it wasn't any kindness of theirs that it didn't land higher—they weren't shooting at me for fun. And I'd have killed them both with a clear conscience, if I could. I tried hard enough. But it was different then; out in the open, where a man had an even break. I don't believe if I had shot as straight as I wanted to that I'd ever have felt a moment's compunction. But now, when they're disarmed and shackled and altogether helpless, I couldn't walk up to them deliberately and kill them could you?

“It could be done, and done easily. You have Lauman where he can't do anything, and I'm not of much account in a fight; so you've really only one deputy sheriff and two women to get the best of. You could drag these men out and hang them in the cottonwoods, and they couldn't raise a hand to defend themselves. We could do it easily—but when it was done and the excitement had passed I'd have a picture in my memory that I'd hate to look at. I'd have an hour in my life that would haunt me. And so would you. You'd hate to look back and think that one time you helped kill a couple of men who couldn't fight back.

“Let the law do it, boys. You don't want them to live, and I don't; nobody does, for they deserve to die. But it isn't for us to play judge and jury and hangman here to-night. Let them get what's coming to them at the hands of the officers you've elected for that purpose. They won't get off. Hank Graves says they will hang if it takes every hoof he owns. He said he would bring Bowman down here to help prosecute them. I don't know Bowman—”

“I do,” a voice spoke, somewhere in the darkness. “Lawyer from Helena. Never lost a case.”

“I'm glad to hear it, for he's the man that will prosecute. They haven't a ghost of a show to get out of it. Lauman here is responsible for their safe keeping and I guess, now that he knows them better, we needn't be afraid they'll escape again. And it's as Lauman said; he'll hang them quite as dead as you can. He's drawing a salary to do these things, make him earn it. It's a nasty job, boys, and you wouldn't get anything out of it but a nasty memory.”

A hand that did not feel like the hand of a man rested for an instant on his arm. Mona brushed by him and stepped out where the rising moon shone on her hair and into her big, blue-gray eyes.

“I wish you all would please go away,” she said. “You are making mamma