The lazo is once more pa.s.sed over the limb; the same two scoundrels taking hold of its loose end--this time drawing it towards them till it becomes taut.

For the third time arises the reflection:

"Soon must the soul of Maurice Gerald go back to its G.o.d!"

Now nearer than ever does the unfortunate man seem to his end. Even love has proved powerless to save him! Wha power on earth can be appealed to after this? None likely to avail.

But there appears no chance of succour--no time for it. There is no mercy in the stern looks of the Regulators--only impatience. The hangmen, too, appear in a hurry--as if they were in dread of another interruption. They manipulate the rope with the ability of experienced executioners. The physiognomy of either would give colour to the a.s.sumption, that they had been accustomed to the calling.

In less than sixty seconds they shall have finished the "job."

"Now then, Bill! Are ye ready?" shouts one to the other--by the question proclaiming, that they no longer intend to wait for the word.

"All right!" responds Bill. "Up with the son of a skunk! Up with him!"

There is a pull upon the rope, but not sufficient to raise the body into an erect position. It tightens around the neck; lifts the head a little from the ground, but nothing more!

Only one of the hangmen has given his strength to the pull. "Haul, d.a.m.n you!" cries Bill, astonished at the inaction of his a.s.sistant. "Why the h.e.l.l don't you haul?"

Bill's back is turned towards an intruder, that, seen by the other, has hindered him from lending a hand. He stands as if suddenly transformed into stone!

"Come!" continues the chief executioner. "Let's go at it again--both together. Yee--up! Up with him!"

"_No ye don't_!" calls out a voice in the tones of a stentor; while a man of colossal frame, carrying a six-foot rifle, is seen rushing out from among the trees, in strides that bring him almost instantly into the thick of the crowd.

"No ye don't!" he repeats, stopping over the prostrate body, and bringing his long rifle to bear upon the ruffians of the rope. "Not yet a bit, as this c.o.o.n kalkerlates. You, Bill Griffin; pull that piece o'

pleeted hoss-hair but the eighth o' an inch tighter, and ye'll git a blue pill in yer stummuk as won't agree wi' ye. Drop the rope, durn ye!

Drop it!"

The screaming of Zeb Stump's mare scarce created a more sudden diversion than the appearance of Zeb himself--for it was he who had hurried upon the ground.

He was known to nearly all present; respected by most; and feared by many.

Among the last were Bill Griffin, and his fellow rope-holder. No longer holding it: for at the command to drop it, yielding to a quick perception of danger, both had let go; and the lazo lay loose along the sward.

"What durned tom-foolery's this, boys?" continues the colossus, addressing himself to the crowd, still speechless from surprise. "Ye don't mean hangin', do ye?"

"We do," answers a stern voice. "And why not?" asks another.

"Why not! Ye'd hang a fellur-citizen 'ithout trial, wud ye?"

"Not much of a fellow-citizen--so far as that goes. Besides, he's had a trial--a fair trial."

"I'deed. A human critter to be condemned wi' his brain in a state o'

dulleerium! Sent out o' the world 'ithout knowin' that he's in it! Ye call that a fair trial, do ye?"

"What matters it, if we know he's guilty? We're all satisfied about that."

"The h.e.l.l ye air! Wagh! I aint goin' to waste words wi' sech as you, Jim Stoddars. But for _you_, Sam Manly, an yerself, Mister Peintdexter--shurly ye aint agreed to this hyur proceeding which, in my opeenyun, 'ud be neyther more nor less 'n murder?"

"You haven't heard all, Zeb Stump," interposes the Regulator Chief, with the design to justify his acquiescence in the act. "There are facts--!"

"Facts be durned! An' fancies, too! I don't want to hear 'em. It'll be time enuf for thet, when the thing k.u.m to a reg'lar trial; the which shurly n.o.b'dy hyur'll objeck to--seein' as thur aint the ghost o' a chance for _him_ to git off. Who air the individooal that objecks?"

"You take too much upon you, Zeb Stump. What is it your business, we'd like to know? The man that's been murdered wasn't _your_ son; nor your brother, nor your cousin neither! If he had been, you'd be of a different way of thinking, I take it."

It is Calhoun who has made this interpolation--spoken before with so much success to his scheme.

"I don't see that it concerns you," he continues, "what course we take in this matter."

"But _I do_. It consarns me--fust, because this young fellur's a friend o' mine, though he air Irish, an a strenger; an secondly, because Zeb Stump aint a goin' to stan' by, an see foul play--even tho' it be on the purayras o' Texas."

"Foul play be d.a.m.ned! There's nothing of the sort. And as for standing by, we'll see about that. Boys! you're not going to be scared from your duty by such swagger as this? Let's make a finish of what we've begun.

The blood of a murdered man cries out to us. Lay hold of the rope!"

"Do; an by the eturnal! the fust that do 'll drop it a leetle quicker than he grups it. Lay a claw on it--one o' ye--if ye darr. Ye may hang this poor critter as high's ye like; but _not_ till ye've laid Zeb'lon Stump streetched dead upon the gra.s.s, wi' some o' ye alongside o' him.

Now then! Let me see the skunk thet's goin' to tech thet rope!"

Zeb's speech is followed by a profound silence. The people keep their places--partly from the danger of accepting his challenge, and partly from the respect due to his courage and generosity. Also, because there is still some doubt in the minds of the Regulators, both as to the expediency, and fairness, of the course which Calhoun is inciting them to take.

With a quick instinct the old hunter perceives the advantage he has gained, and presses it.

"Gie the young fellur a fair trial," urges he. "Let's take him to the settlement, an hev' him tried thur. Ye've got no clur proof, that he's had any hand in the black bizness; and durn me! if I'd believe it unless I seed it wi' my own eyes. I know how he feeled torst young Peintdexter. Instead o' bein' his enemy, thur aint a man on this ground hed more o' a likin' for him--tho' he did hev a bit o' shindy wi' his precious cousin thur."

"You are perhaps not aware, Mr Stump," rejoins the Regulator Chief, in a calm voice, "of what we've just been hearing?"

"What hev ye been hearin'?"

"Evidence to the contrary of what you a.s.sert. We have proof, not only that there was bad blood between Gerald and young Poindexter, but that a quarrel took place on the very night--"

"Who sez thet, Sam Manly?"

"I say it," answers Calhoun, stepping a little forward, so as to be seen by Stump.

"O, you it air, Mister Cash Calhoun! You know thur war bad blood atween 'em? You seed the quarrel ye speak o'?"

"I haven't said that I saw it, Zeb Stump. And what's more I'm not going to stand any cross-questioning by you. I have given my evidence, to those who have the right to hear it; and that's enough. I think, gentlemen, you're satisfied as to the verdict. I don't see why this old fool should interrupt--"

"Ole fool!" echoes the hunter, with a screech; "Ole fool! h.e.l.l an herrikins! Ye call me an ole fool? By the eturnal G.o.d! ye'll live to take back that speech, or my name aint Zeblun Stump, o' Kaintucky.

Ne'er a mind now; thur's a time for everythin', an yur time may come, Mister Cash Calhoun, sooner than ye surspecks it."

"As for a quarrel atween Henry Peintdexter an the young fellur hyur,"

continues Zeb, addressing himself to the Regulator Chief, "I don't believe a word on't; nor won't, so long's thur's no better proof than _his_ palaverin'. From what this chile knows, it don't stan' to reezun.

Ye say ye've got new facks? So've I too. Facks I reck'n thet'll go a good way torst explicatin o' this mysteerus bizness, twisted up as it air."

"What facts?" demands the Regulator Chief. "Let's hear them, Stump."

"Thur's more than one. Fust place what do ye make o' the young fellur bein' wownded hisself? I don't talk o' them scratches ye see; I believe them's done by coyoats that attackted him, arter they see'd he wur wownded. But look at his knee Somethin' else than coyoats did _that_.