blacksmith shop and a shack we keep all kinds of truck in, and--"

"What--in--the world--"

A chorus of shouts and shots arose from below. A scurrying group
of horsemen burst over the hill behind the house, dashed half down
the slope, and surrounded the bunk house with blood-curdling yells.
Chip held the creams to a walk and furtively watched his companion.
Miss Whitmore's eyes were very wide open; plainly, she was astonished
beyond measure at the uproar. Whether she was also frightened, Chip
could not determine.

The menacing yells increased in volume till the very hills seemed to
cower in fear. Miss Whitmore gasped when a limp form was dragged from
the cabin and lifted to the back of a snorting pony.

"They've got a rope around that man's neck," she breathed, in a
horrified half whisper. "Are--they--going to HANG him?"

"It kinda looks that way, from here," said Chip, inwardly ashamed.
All at once it struck him as mean and cowardly to frighten a lady
who had traveled far among strangers and who had that tired droop
to her mouth. It wasn't a fair game; it was cheating. Only for his
promise to the boys, he would have told her the truth then and there.

Miss Whitmore was not a stupid young woman; his very indifference told
her all that she needed to know. She tore her eyes from the confused
jumble of gesticulating men and restive steeds to look sharply at Chip.
He met her eyes squarely for an instant, and the horror oozed from her
and left only amused chagrin that they should try to trick her so.