was dragged between
them, his feet trailing weakly and aimlessly behind him, his whole body
sinking with flabby terror. The stern lip of Riley Sinclair curled.
"He's going to let it go through," said Sandersen to himself. "After
all nobody can blame him. He couldn't put his own neck in the noose."
Over the lowest limb of a great cottonwood Judge Lodge accurately flung
the rope, so that the noose dangled a significant distance from the
ground. There was a businesslike stir among the others. Denver, Larsen,
the judge, and Sandersen held the free end of the rope. Buck Mason tied
the hands of the prisoner behind him. Montana spoke calmly through his
mask.
"Jig, you sure done a rotten bad thing. You hadn't ought to of killed
him, Jig. These here killings has got to stop. We ain't hanging you for
spite, but to make an example."
Then with a dexterous hand he fitted the noose around the neck of the
schoolteacher. As the rough rope grated against Gaspar's throat, he
shrieked and jerked against the rope end that bound his hands. Then, as
if he realized that struggling would not help him, and that only speech
could give him a chance for life, he checked the cry of horror and
looked around him. His glances fell on the grim masks, and it was only
natural that he should address himself to the only uncovered face he
saw.
"Sir," he said to Riley in a rapid, trembling voice, "you look to me
like an honest man. Give me—give me time to speak."
"Make it pronto," said Riley Sinclair coldly.
The four waited, with their hands settled high up on the rope, ready
for the tug which would swing Gaspar halfway to his Maker.
"We're kind of pushed for time, ourselves," said Riley. "So hurry it
on, Gaspar."
Bill Sandersen was a cold man, but such unbelievable heartlessness
chilled him. Into his mind rushed a temptation suddenly to denounce the
real slayer before them all. He checked that temptation. In the first
place it would be impossible to convince five men who had already made
up their minds, who had already acquitted Sinclair of the guilt. In the
second place, if he succeeded in convincing them, there would be an
instant gunplay, and the first man to come under Sinclair's fire, he
knew well enough, would be himself. He drew a long breath and waited.
"Good friends, gentlemen," Gaspar was saying, "I don't even know what
you accuse me of. Kill a man? Why should I wish to kill a man? You know
I'm not a fighter. Gentlemen—"
"Jig," cut in Buck Mason, "you was as good as seen to murder. You're
going to hang. If you got anything to say make a confession."
Gaspar attempted to throw himself on his knees, but his weight struck
against the rope. He staggered back to his feet, struggling for breath.
"For mercy's sake—" began Gaspar.
"Cut it short, boys!" cried Buck Mason. "Up with him!"
The four men at the rope reached a little higher and settled their
grips. In another moment Gaspar would dangle in the air. Now Riley
Sinclair made his decision. The agonized eyes of the condemned man,
wide with animal terror, were fixed on his face. Sinclair raised his
hand.
"Wait!"
The arms, growing tense for the jerk, relaxed.
"How long is this going to be dragged out?" asked the judge in disgust.
"The worst lynching I ever see, that's what I call it! They ain't no
justice in it—it's just plain torture." "Partner," declared Riley
Sinclair, "I'm sure glad to see that you got a good appetite for a
killing. But it's just come home to me that in spite of everything,
this here gent might be innocent. And if he is, heaven help our souls.
We're done for!"
"Bless you for that!" exclaimed Gaspar.
"Shut up!" said Sinclair. "No matter what you done, you deserve hangin'
for being yaller. But concerning this here matter, gents, it looks to
me like it'd be a pretty good idea to have a fair and square trial for
Gaspar."
"Trial?" asked Buck Mason. "Don't we all know what trials end up with?
Law ain't no good, except to give lawyers a living."
"Never was a truer
them, his feet trailing weakly and aimlessly behind him, his whole body
sinking with flabby terror. The stern lip of Riley Sinclair curled.
"He's going to let it go through," said Sandersen to himself. "After
all nobody can blame him. He couldn't put his own neck in the noose."
Over the lowest limb of a great cottonwood Judge Lodge accurately flung
the rope, so that the noose dangled a significant distance from the
ground. There was a businesslike stir among the others. Denver, Larsen,
the judge, and Sandersen held the free end of the rope. Buck Mason tied
the hands of the prisoner behind him. Montana spoke calmly through his
mask.
"Jig, you sure done a rotten bad thing. You hadn't ought to of killed
him, Jig. These here killings has got to stop. We ain't hanging you for
spite, but to make an example."
Then with a dexterous hand he fitted the noose around the neck of the
schoolteacher. As the rough rope grated against Gaspar's throat, he
shrieked and jerked against the rope end that bound his hands. Then, as
if he realized that struggling would not help him, and that only speech
could give him a chance for life, he checked the cry of horror and
looked around him. His glances fell on the grim masks, and it was only
natural that he should address himself to the only uncovered face he
saw.
"Sir," he said to Riley in a rapid, trembling voice, "you look to me
like an honest man. Give me—give me time to speak."
"Make it pronto," said Riley Sinclair coldly.
The four waited, with their hands settled high up on the rope, ready
for the tug which would swing Gaspar halfway to his Maker.
"We're kind of pushed for time, ourselves," said Riley. "So hurry it
on, Gaspar."
Bill Sandersen was a cold man, but such unbelievable heartlessness
chilled him. Into his mind rushed a temptation suddenly to denounce the
real slayer before them all. He checked that temptation. In the first
place it would be impossible to convince five men who had already made
up their minds, who had already acquitted Sinclair of the guilt. In the
second place, if he succeeded in convincing them, there would be an
instant gunplay, and the first man to come under Sinclair's fire, he
knew well enough, would be himself. He drew a long breath and waited.
"Good friends, gentlemen," Gaspar was saying, "I don't even know what
you accuse me of. Kill a man? Why should I wish to kill a man? You know
I'm not a fighter. Gentlemen—"
"Jig," cut in Buck Mason, "you was as good as seen to murder. You're
going to hang. If you got anything to say make a confession."
Gaspar attempted to throw himself on his knees, but his weight struck
against the rope. He staggered back to his feet, struggling for breath.
"For mercy's sake—" began Gaspar.
"Cut it short, boys!" cried Buck Mason. "Up with him!"
The four men at the rope reached a little higher and settled their
grips. In another moment Gaspar would dangle in the air. Now Riley
Sinclair made his decision. The agonized eyes of the condemned man,
wide with animal terror, were fixed on his face. Sinclair raised his
hand.
"Wait!"
The arms, growing tense for the jerk, relaxed.
"How long is this going to be dragged out?" asked the judge in disgust.
"The worst lynching I ever see, that's what I call it! They ain't no
justice in it—it's just plain torture." "Partner," declared Riley
Sinclair, "I'm sure glad to see that you got a good appetite for a
killing. But it's just come home to me that in spite of everything,
this here gent might be innocent. And if he is, heaven help our souls.
We're done for!"
"Bless you for that!" exclaimed Gaspar.
"Shut up!" said Sinclair. "No matter what you done, you deserve hangin'
for being yaller. But concerning this here matter, gents, it looks to
me like it'd be a pretty good idea to have a fair and square trial for
Gaspar."
"Trial?" asked Buck Mason. "Don't we all know what trials end up with?
Law ain't no good, except to give lawyers a living."
"Never was a truer
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