"Where's the need?" Husky rejoined. "Why, you're wearin' the very duds you did the deeds in, an' your black's out in the corral."
"An' has oeen there the whole while Jim was absent," Gerry protested.
"Shut yore face," another man said angrily. "I dunno as you ain't in with him; we oughta string up the pair of you." Sudden stood up. "Keep outa this, Gerry," he said, and to Husky, "Once before yu nearly hanged an innocent man. Yo're goin' to do the same again. I can prove my story if yu give me time...."
"To git yore friends to lie for you, like yore pardner did," chimed in a vicious voice which somehow seemed familiar.
Sudden looked at the speaker--youngish, black-jowled, with a cast in one eye which lent his features a peculiarly malignant expression, but he could not place him. The sneer evoked a chorus of approval.
"Git on with the job--we're wasting time," said one. "Yeah, an' time's money an' I'm busted," added another, at which there was a guffaw.
Unable to resist, the prisoner found himself being hustled into the open. He had seen mob law at work and knew that, convinced of his guilt, he was doomed unless some miracle happened. A yell of execration from the hundreds who had been unable to get into the cabin, greeted his appearance and men scrambled for points of vantage to see him, though he must have been a familiar figure to most of them. Down the street he was marched until a teamster's wagon barred the way.
"Take yore beasts out, friend," Husky said. "We're borryin' yore wagon for a while."
"What you want with it?" the fellow asked.
"Aimin' to stretch this hombre's neck," the miner replied, jerking a thumb at the condemned. "Got no time to build a gallows." Willing hands helped to unyoke the oxen and up-end the pole. Then Husky turned to the puncher.
"Got anythin' to say?" he asked.
* * On the morning after her return, Lora was alone in the parlour with her brother, for, too prostrated even to eat, she had gone straight to bed on reaching home. The relation of her experience brought a look of bewilderment to his face.
"Who the devil can these men be?" he asked. "And what did they want with you?"
"I don't know, but their leader threatened to torture me to make Green tell," she replied.
"Snowy keeps his tongue too well oiled," Paul said angrily. "The man who took you was dressed like Green and rode a black. Are you sure it was not Green?"
"Naturally," she said sarcastically, "since the cowboy was tied up in camp when I arrived with my captor."
"Settles that, of course," he admitted. "You can't describe this fellow--Hank?" She shook her head. "Medium height and build, with a throaty voice which may have been due to the handkerchief over his mouth."
"So, when you escaped, you spent the night in the woods with Green?"
"Certainly, there being no alternative save the outlaws."
"Did he make love to you?" She laughed disdainfully. "My dear Paul, no man makes love to me without my permission. He conducted himself like a gentleman."
"Which was a disappointment, no doubt?" The gibe sent the blood into her cheeks. Looking him directly in the face, she said fiercely: "Yes." Though he did not believe it, the defiant manner made him sorry he had hurt her. He began to say so, but she shrugged an impatient shoulder.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "You resemble Snowy, only your tongue is too well ground. Is there any news?"
"Some more miners have been killed and robbed by a man in cowboy clothes, riding a black horse." Her eyes went wide. "Why, that must have been he--the man who nearly strangled me. I heard a shot just before I saw him."
"The miners are taking it pretty hard." A deep-throated bellow, like distant thunder, came to their ears.
"What on earth is that?" Lora wondered.
Snowy, flinging open the door, answered the question:
"Hey, Paul, the town's gone mad. They've got Green an' are goin' to string him up right now; they claim he's the prowlin' skunk who's been wipin"em out." Lora's face went deathly white. "My God, we must do something, Paul," she cried. "He's innocent--and useful," she added, noting the odd look in his eyes.
"Certainly we must," he said, "but there's no need for you to figure in it--yet."
"I'm coming with you," she stated. "I owe him that, at least. Besides, it will put him under an obligation."
"You gotta hurry, there ain't a second to lose," Snowy urged.
Just as they reached the outskirts of the crowd, Wild Billstrode up. The gunman's usually placid face was set and stern. "Make way, friends," he said quietly.
The outer fringe of the gathering consisted largely of men who, not being miners, were merely there out of curiosity, and when they saw from whom the request came, they made way readily enough. Paul and his companions followed on Hickok's heels. As they neared the wagon, progress became more difficult. Lowering looks on all sides greeted them, and then came a flat refusal.
"If yo're gamblin' on a rescue, Bill, you'll lose out," growled a beetle-browed miner, one of several barring their path. "If you ain't, well, they'll be jerkin' him up in two-three minutes an' you'll git as good a view as the rest of us."
"I never ask twice," Hickok said.
He made no hostile movement, the ivory-handled guns remained in their holsters, his voice was not raised, but the threat was there, and they knew well enough it was no empty one; he would shoot them down; the rest of the mob could overwhelm and tear him to bits, but that would not put the breath back into their bodies. Sullenly they pressed aside, permitting the gunman and those with him to reach the wagon.
Sudden, standing under the upraised pole, with the noose already round his neck, was waiting for the word which would for him spell the beginning of eternity. His hard young face was devoid of expression save for the eyes, scornful and defiant, staring fixedly at the man who would give the fatal sign. This was Husky, and he had begun to raise a hand when Hickok sprang on to the wagon. But at the sight of the pistol-barrel nudging the new-corner's hip and pointing directly to himself, the miner's arm dropped nervelessly. A savage howl of protest greeted the gunman's intervention, to die away in low, angry muttering when Husky spoke:
"See here, Bill, when was you app'inted marshal o' Deadwood?"
"About the same time yu were made hangman," Hickok retorted. "Take that rope off; yu've got the wrong fella." Husky looked uneasy. "Can you prove it?" he asked.
"Yes, an' if I couldn't yu'd do what I say or die before he did," Wild Bill snapped.
"Yo're takin' a high hand," the miner grumbled. "There's others have a say in this." He raised his voice. "Am I to turn him loose, boys?" A babel of expostulation followed the question. "Turn him off, not loose," one wit shouted, and the phrase was taken up and repeated. Mingled with it were invitations to Hickok to mind his own business, and to try a warmer climate. "Go ahead, Husky; we're behind you," others cried.
Erect on the wagon, the object of this outburst listened with an expression of cold contempt. At the last piece of encouragement, however, a wisp of a smile broke the straight lines of his lips. He knew that was Husky's trouble; had he been behind he would have shouted as boldly as the best, but stopping the first bullet was something different.
"Yo're a plucky lot, ain't yu?" he said. "Hundreds of yu to hang a man without givin' him a chance to speak."
"That ain't so--he's said his piece," Husky corrected. "Claims he was carried off by a gang an' held in the hills somewheres. Sounds likely, don't it?" Lora Lesurge stepped to Hickok's side. "It may not sound likely, sir, but it happens to be true," she said, in a clear, reaching voice. "As many of you know, I too have been `lost' for some days. I was set upon, half-throttled, and carried off by a man attired as a cowboy mounted on a black pony. He took me to a kind of camp, where I found Mister Green, bound hand and foot, when I arrived. He did not leave until we got away."