There would be one chance for him and when it came he must grasp it with the speed of lightning.

Bodkin led down the west bank of the brook. The trees and rocks broke up the formation of the posse. Brazos’s sharp eye caught the rider behind Bodkin bending forward to untie his lasso from his saddle. They entered a rocky glade dominated by an old cottonwood tree with spreading branches and a dead top.

“Open up,” shouted. Bodkin. “Prod his hoss out hyar.”

“Boss,” spoke up one of the posse, “this deal is too raw for my stomach.”

“Rustle, then. Git out if hyar,” yelled the leader, livid with passion.

“I sure will. Come on, Ben. We didn’t join this outfit to hang a cowboy thet ain’t proved guilty.”

The lean rider addressed detached himself from the group. “Bodkin,” he said forcefully. “You’re too damn keen on this necktie party. Frank an’ me are slopin’.”

“Yellow, huh?” shouted the deputy as the couple rode off “See heah, Bodkin,” interposed Inskip, “did you ride all this way to have yore mind changed by surface?”

“Inskip, you go to hell,” hissed Bodkin, enraged at the sarcastic implication.

Brazos read in Inskip’s eyes what Bodkin failed to see, and it was that intelligence which sustained him. The Texan might have a trump card up his sleeve, but Brazos could only think of two desperate chances, one of which he was sure would be presented.

“Flip thet noose, Barsh,” ordered Bodkin sardonically, addressing a lean rider whose hat shaded his face. He had a coiled rope in his left hand. He gave the coil a toss. The loop spread to fall over Brazos’s head and lodge on his shoulders. Another flip and the noose closed around his neck.

The feel of the hard smooth hemp against Brazos’s bare flesh liberated in him the devil that he had kept leashed. Barsh plainly quailed before Brazos’s steady gaze.

“Pile off, all of you,” shouted Bodkin stridently, dismounting to lean his rifle against the tree. “Barsh, throw the end of your rope over thet branch.”

“Hold on!” This order issued from the Texan, whose hand obstructed Barsh’s arm in his effort to toss up the rope.

“Wha—at?” bawled Bodkin.

Bodkin was the only rider besides Brazos who had not dismounted. The others had laid aside their rifles and shot-guns to crowd back of Barsh, nervously hurrying to get the gruesome job done.

Inskip deliberately rode between them and Brazos. “Bodkin, he might have a mother or sweetheart. An’ he’ll want to send some word.”

“Aw, let him blab it pronto, then.”

“Cowboy, do you want to tell me who you air an’ send some message?” queried Inskip calmly.

“I shore do. But I don’t want this skunk to heah it.”

“Wal, you can tell me.” Inskip pulled his horse toward Brazos.

“Hyah, Inskip—not so close!” shrieked Bodkin.

The Texan leaned toward Brazos to whisper soft and low, “Grab my guns, but don’t kill onless you have to.”

Brazos’s claw-like hands swept out. As he jerked loose the two big guns Inskip spurred his horse to lunge away.

“Freeze! Damn yu!” pealed out Brazos, as he covered Bodkin and the startled posse.

CHAPTER 2

Brazos heard Inskip’s horse pound over the rocks and plough the brook. The Texan was racing for town. Bodkin turned a ghastly hue. Barsh gasped and dropped the rope. The others stood stiff.

“Hands up! Turn yore backs!” ordered Brazos, his voice ice-edged. “Bodkin, tell yore men to fork their hawsses. One move for a gun means I’ll kill you first.”

“Fellers—he’s got me—cold,” rejoined the deputy.