"Luce Burdette," he muttered. "But how come he to leave this behind?"
The spot where the hat had lain was littered with cigarette stubs. "Squatted here some time, an' took his lid off while he waited," Slype went on. "Then when he's did what he come to do, bolts off an' forgets it." He picked up a shining brass object. "She's a .38 shell. I reckon that settles it; we gotta find Mister Luce, an' right speedy."
"Huh, I'll bet he's throwin' dust an' yu won't see that hombre no more," Pike said.
The marshal eyed him speculatively. "How much yu wanta lose?" he asked. "I got ten dollars that says we'll find him in town. Yu takin' it?"
"Betcha life," the man replied. "Easy money, marshal."
"Don't think it," warned a friend. "Coin yu collect from Sam ain't ever that."
The trip back to Windy was made at speed, and the whole party piled into the hotel, where, as the news spread, they were quickly followed by others. They found the man they were in search of calmly eating a meal in the dining-room. The marshal shot a triumphant glance at Pike and then turned abruptly upon Luce.
"Where yu bin this afternoon?" he inquired.
The young man did not need to be told there was trouble in the air; the fact stuck out like a sore thumb. "Prospectin' south o' the river, if it's any o' yore damn business," he replied.
This was in the opposite direction from where the ambushing had occurred, and the officer's thin lips curledin a sneer as he went on, "Anybody with yu to prove that?"
"No, I didn't see nobody. What's the idea?"
"That can wait. Still usin' that .38 o' yores?" and when the other nodded, "Have it with yu to-day?"
"Shore I did--don't aim to be caught out on a limb if I can help it," Luce said, adding scathingly, "Bushwhack-in' is too prevalent around here."
"Yu said it," the marshal agreed, and held out the second hat they had found. "Know who owns this?"
The boy's eyes opened in surprise. "It's mine," he said. "I left it behind..."
"Yeah, we know; when yu downed Green," Slype put in.
Luce Burdette sprang to his feet, eyes wide with amazement, and every gun in the room instantly covered him. But he made no attempt to draw his own.
"Green downed?" he cried, and there was deep concern in his voice. "An' yu think I did it? Yu must be loco; he's about my on'y friend."
"He was got with a .38 shell, by a fella ridin' a grey hoss, an' we find yore hat on the spot," the marshal said incisively.
"That lid's an old one which I left at the Circle B when I cleared out," Luce explained. He pointed to the chair beside him. "There's the one I'm usin'."
Slype laughed nastily. "Bright boy, ain't yu?" he sneered. "But it don't go this time. Twice yu bin lucky an' got away with it, but this is yore finish." He surveyed the crowded room, narrowed lids hiding the malevolent triumph in his gaze. "Some o' yu mebbe ain't got the straight o' this; here it is," he said, and went on to give a brief summary of the facts as he knew them. His concluding words were, "I reckon that's good enough for us to go ahead an' try this fella right away."
"Try him?" echoed a hoarse voice. "Oh, yeah, an' give him a chance to lie hisself out of it again. Yo're mighty fussy, marshal, 'bout stringin' up a cowardly coyote who kills from cover. Mebbe it's 'cause he's a Burdette, huh?"
The speaker was Goldy Evans, still sore at the loss of his dust, and a chorus of approval showed that he had plenty of support. The marshal drew himself up with a farcical attempt at dignity.
"A Burdette gets the same treatment from me as any other man," he announced. "I represent the law, an' there'll be no necktie party--if I can prevent it." The pause and the lowered tone of the last few words told the turbulent element in the crowd all it wanted to know. Slype had made his protest; if they forced his hand . . .
Magee, who, arriving late, had only contrived to make his way just inside the door, threw up a hand.
"Aisy, bhoys, give the lad a hearin'," he shouted. "Shure it's agin all nature he should do this thing--Green saved his life, ye mind. Lavin' th' hat behind looks purty thin to me."
But for once the saloon-keeper, popular though he was, found himself powerless; only a few voices backed him up, and these were drowned by the opposition.
"Aw, Mick, one customer won't make much difference," a miner gibed, and the Irishman's protest ended in a burst of laughter.
The brutal witticism, typical of a land where tragedy and comedy frequently stalked hand in hand, conveyed no hope to the accused. He knew that these men, having decided by their own rough and ready reasoning that he was guilty, would hang him with no more compunction than they would have in breaking the back of a rattlesnake. The old Biblical law, "An eye for an eye," was perhaps the only ordinance for which they had any respect. Nevertheless, the boy faced them boldly, making no resistance when two of them grabbed his arms and hustled him towards the door.
"Hand the prisoner over to me," Slype blustered, and made a belated attempt to draw his gun, only to find that some cautious soul in the press behind him had already removed it.
"Best not interfere, marshal," the fellow--a red-jowled, stalwart teamster--warned. "Yu can have yore shootin' iron when this business is settled."
The officer shrugged his shoulders resignedly; he had put up a bluff, but with no intention of trying to make it good. He saw the condemned youth vanish through the door in a medley of heaving bodies, and presently followed, to make a final effort, not to save the victim's neck, but his own face. The fools, he reflected; they thought they had beaten him, and were only doing just what he wanted them to. He strode after the jeering, shouting crowd, and like peas from a pod, men popped from the buildings on either side of the street and joined the procession. By the time it stopped, nearly every man in the place was present.
The halt was made at a cottonwood which shaded the last shack--going east--in the settlement, and had the distinction of being the one tree the actual town could boast. It was a giant, only its great girth having saved it from transformation into building material. Round it the spectators milled, jockeying to get a good view of the tightlipped, grey-faced boy who flushed a little and then proudly straightened up when the rope, with its running noose, was dropped over his head. The other end was pitched over an outflung branch above him and three men gripped it.
"Anythin' to say, Burdette?" ripped out Goldy Evans, who had constituted himself leader of the lynching party, and added, "Yu might as well tell where yu cached my dust--it won't be no use where yo're goin'."
The prisoner looked at the ring of threatening, ghoulish faces thrust eagerly forward to see him die. "I never had yore dust, Evans, an' I didn't shoot Green," he replied firmly. "Yo're hangin' an innocent man."
Magee and several of the more solid citizens believed him, but could do nothing against the overwhelming odds. The bulk of the crowd received the statement with ornate expressions of unbelief; the lust for blood was in their nostrils; nothing short of a miracle would stop them now. The marshal knew it; this was not the first Western mob, with its weird ideas of justice, its mad desire to destroy, that he had seen. He voiced one more feeble protest.
"Boys, I can't let this go on--it ain't reg'lar. Yo're robbin' the law of its rights."
"Git to hell outa this an' take yore law with yu," snarled the teamster who had threatened him in the hotel. "That there branch'll bear two, an' we can easy find another rope."
Slype turned away with a well-simulated gesture of despair, and the teamster plunged again into the jostling throng, anxious not to miss the climax of the drama. Every eye was now fixed on the slim, youthful figure waiting tensely for the word which would hurl him into eternity. No one noticed the approach of two riders who, about to enter the town, had pulled up at the sight of the gathering. Evans was about to give the fatal signal when another command rang out :