did not bind his arms--perhaps because of the crowd and a desire to
seem merciful. But though he merely tied the prisoner's ankle after
the usual manner, he knotted the small rope with a vicious yank,
pulled it as tight as he could and passed the rope under the flinching
belly of the buckskin to Davis, on the other side. Also he sent a
glance of meaning which the other read unerringly and obeyed most
willingly. Davis drew the rope taut under the cinch and tied Jack's
other ankle as if he were putting the diamond hitch on a pack mule.
The two stepped back and eyed him sharply for some sign of pain, when
all was done.

"Thanks," drawled Jack. "Sorry I can't do as much for you." Whereupon
he set his teeth against the growing agony of strained muscles and
congesting arteries, and began to roll a cigarette with fingers which
he held rigidly from trembling.

Bill Wilson, returning gloomily to the doorway of his place, grated an
oath and turned away his head.

Some day, he promised himself vengefully, those two--yes, and the
whole group of murderers moving briskly away from the tent--would pay
for that outrage; and he prayed that the day might come soon.

He went heavily into the big room where men were already foregathering
to gossip between drinks of the trial and of the man who was to die.
Bill bethought him of the young stranger; made some inquiries of
certain inoffensive individuals among the crowd, and sent Jim out with
instructions to find the kid and bring him back with him.

Bill was standing in the door waiting for Jim to return, when, in a