Corcoran faced the mob, livid under his sun-burnt bronze. His eyes were coals of blue hell---fire. There was a gun in each hand, and from the right-hand muzzle a wisp of blue smoke drifted lazily upward.
-- declare this court adjourned!--he roared.--he judge is done impeached, and the jury-- discharged! I--l give you thirty seconds to clear the court-room!--
He was one man against nearly a hundred, but he was a grey wolf facing a pack of yapping jackals. Each man knew that if the mob surged on him, they would drag him down at last; but each man knew what an awful toll would first be paid, and each man feared that he himself would be one of those to pay that toll.
They hesitated, stumbled back--gave way suddenly and scattered in all directions. Some backed away, some shamelessly turned their backs and fled. With a snarl Corcoran thrust his guns back in their scabbards and turned toward the door where McBride stood, grasping the bars.
-- thought I was a goner that time, Corcoran,--he gasped. The Texan pulled the door open, and pushed McBride-- pistol into his hand.
--here-- a horse tied behind the jail,--said Corcoran.--et on it and dust out of here. I--l take the full responsibility. If you stay here they--l burn down the jail, or shoot you through the window. You can make it out of town while they--e scattered. I--l explain to Middleton and Hopkins. In a month or so, if you want to, come back and stand trial, as a matter of formality. Things will be cleaned up around here by then.-- McBride needed no urging. The grisly fate he had just escaped had shaken his nerve. Shaking Corcoran't hand passionately, he ran stumblingly through the trees to the horse Corcoran had left there. A few moments later he was fogging it out of the Gulch.
McNab came up, scowling and grumbling.
--ou had no authority to let him go. I tried to stop the mob--
Corcoran wheeled and faced him, making no attempt to conceal his hatred.
--ou did like hell! Don't pull that stuff with me, McNab. You was in on this, and so was Middleton. You put up a bluff of talk, so afterwards you could tell Colonel Hopkins and the others that you tried to stop the lynchin'tand was overpowered. I saw the scrap you put up when they grabbed you! Hell! You--e a rotten actor.----ou can't talk to me like that!--roared McNab.
The old tigerish light flickered in the blue eyes. Corcoran did not exactly move, yet he seemed to sink into a half crouch, as a cougar does for the killing spring.
--f you don't like my style, McNab,--he said softly, thickly,--ou--e more-- welcome to open the baile whenever you get ready!-- For an instant they faced each other, McNab black-browed and scowling, Corcoran't thin lips almost smiling, but blue fire lighting his eyes. Then with a grunt McNab turned and slouched away, his shaggy head swaying from side to side like that of a surly bull.
VII
A VULTURE-- WINGS ARE CLIPPED
Middleton pulled up his horse suddenly as Corcoran reined out of the bushes. One glance showed the sheriff that Corcoran't mood was far from placid. They were amidst a grove of alders, perhaps a mile from the Gulch.
--hy, hello, Corcoran,--began Middleton, concealing his surprise.--caught up with Brockman. It was just a wild rumor. He didn't have any gold. That--
--rop it!--snapped Corcoran.--know why you sent me off on that wild-goose chase--same reason you pulled out of town. To give Brent-- friends a chance to get even with McBride. If I hadn't turned around and dusted back into Wahpeton, McBride would be kickin'this life out at the end of a rope, right now.----ou came back--?----eah! And now Jake Bissett-- in hell instead of Jack McBride, and McBride-- dusted out--on a horse I gave him. I told you I gave him my word he wouldn't be lynched.----ou killed Bissett?----eader-- hell!----e was a Vulture,--muttered Middleton, but he did not seem displeased.--rent, Bissett--the more Vultures die, the easier it will be for us to get away when we go. That-- one reason I had Brent killed. But you should have let them hang McBride. Of course I framed this affair; I had to do something to satisfy Brent-- friends. Otherwise they might have gotten suspicious.
--f they suspicioned I had anything to do with having him killed, or thought I wasn't anxious to punish the man who killed him, they-- make trouble for me. I can't have a split in the gang now. And even I can't protect you from Brent-- friends, after this.----ave I ever asked you, or any man, for protection?--The quick jealous pride of the gunfighter vibrated in his voice.
--reckman, Red Bill, Curly, and now Bissett. You--e killed too many Vultures. I made them think the killing of the first three was a mistake, all around. Bissett wasn't very popular. But they won't forgive you for stopping them from hanging the man who killed Ace Brent. They won't attack you openly, of course. But you--l have to watch every step you make. They--l kill you if they can, and I won't be able to prevent them.----f I-- tell--m just how Ace Brent died, you-- be in the same boat,--said Corcoran bitingly.--f course, I won't. Our final getaway depends on you keepin'ttheir confidence--as well as the confidence of the honest folks. This last killin'tought to put me, and therefore you, ace-high with Hopkins and his crowd.----hey--e still talking vigilante. I encourage it. It-- coming anyway. Murders in the outlying camps are driving men to a frenzy of fear and rage, even though such crimes have ceased in Wahpeton. Better to fall in line with the inevitable and twist it to a man't own ends, than to try to oppose it. If you can keep Brent-- friends from killing you for a few more weeks, we--l be ready to jump. Look out for Buck Gorman. He-- the most dangerous man in the gang. He was Brent-- friend, and he has his own friends--all dangerous men. Don't kill him unless you have to.------l take care of myself,--answered Corcoran somberly.--looked for Gorman in the mob, but he wasn't there. Too smart. But he's the man behind the mob. Bissett was just a stupid ox; Gorman planned it--or rather, I reckon he helped you plan it.------ wondering how you found out about it,--said Middleton.--ou wouldn't have come back unless somebody told you. Who was it?----one of your business,--growled Corcoran. It did not occur to him that Glory Bland would be in any danger from Middleton, even if the sheriff knew about her part in the affair, but he did not relish being questioned, and did not feel obliged to answer anybody-- queries.
--hat new gold strike sure came in mighty handy for you and Gorman,--he said.--id you frame that, too?-- Middleton nodded.
--f course. That was one of my men who poses as a miner. He had a hatful of nuggets from the cache. He served his purpose and joined the men who hide up there in the hills. The mob of miners will be back tomorrow, tired and mad and disgusted, and when they hear about what happened, they--l recognize the handiwork of the Vultures; at least some of them will. But they won't connect me with it in any way. Now we--l ride back to town. Things are breaking our way, in spite of your foolish interference with the mob. But let Gorman alone. You can't afford to make any more enemies in the gang.--
Buck Gorman leaned on the bar in the Golden Eagle and expressed his opinion of Steve Corcoran in no uncertain terms. The crowd listened sympathetically, for, almost to a man, they were the ruffians and riff-raff of the camp.
--he dog pretends to be a deputy!--roared Gorman, whose blood-shot eyes and damp tangled hair attested to the amount of liquor he had drunk.--ut he kills an appointed judge, breaks up a court and drives away the jury--yes, and releases the prisoner, a man charged with murder!-- It was the day after the fake gold strike, and the disillusioned miners were drowning their chagrin in the saloons. But few honest miners were in the Golden Eagle.
--olonel Hopkins and other prominent citizens held an investigation,--said some one.--hey declared that evidence showed Corcoran to have been justified--denounced the court as a mob, acquitted Corcoran of killing Bissett, and then went ahead and acquitted McBride for killing Brent, even though he wasn't there.-- Gorman snarled like a cat, and reached for his whisky glass. His hand did not twitch or quiver, his movements were more catlike than ever. The whisky had inflamed his mind, illumined his brain with a white-hot certainty that was akin to insanity, but it had not affected his nerves or any part of his muscular system. He was more deadly drunk than sober.