"Speaking of the square deal," Tom observed, "I now insist upon it.

Duff, you knocked me down when my hands were tied. If you're not a coward I request that you order my hands freed--and then repeat your blow if you dare."

"You'll stay tied," retorted Duff grimly.

"I knew it," sighed Reade. "What's the use of talking about honor and square dealing where a gambler is concerned? Loaded dice, marked cards or tying a man before you dare to hit him--it's all the same to your kind."

"Shut up that talk, you hound, or I'll pound you stiff before we go on with what's been arranged for you!" raged the gambler, shaking his clenched fist in the face of the young engineer.

"Go slowly, Jim," advised one of the men present. "Of course we know what we're to do to this young pup, and we all know what he thinks of you. But some of the rest of us have different ideas as to how a helpless enemy ought to be treated."

"You, Rafe Bodson!" snarled Duff, turning on the last speaker. "Are you one of us? Do you belong to our side, or are you a spy for the other crowd?"

"Got your gun with you, Duff?" inquired Bodson calmly.

"Yes," snapped the gambler.

"Get it out in your hand, then, before, you talk to me any more in that fashion."

"He won't," mocked Tom. "He doesn't dare, Bodson. Your hands are not tied."

"Cut it out, Rafe! Quit it!" ordered one of the other men in the crowd.

"We won't let this tenderfoot split our ranks. You're one of us, and you'll stand by us."

"Not if there's going to be any more hitting of tied men," retorted Bodson sulkily. "There's a limit to what a man can stand."

"Thank you, my friend," broke in Tom Reade mildly. "But don't go to any trouble on our account. There are few if any others in this crowd who can understand the meaning of fair play--the gambler least of all."

"I'll take that out of you, Reade!" blazed Jim Duff. "I'll--"

"You'll do nothing while the kid's hands are tied," objected Bodson, stepping between the pair. "Act fair and square, Jim, as a man should act."

"That's the argument, Rafe," remarked another man, also stepping forward.

"Bully for you, Jeff Moore," replied Rafe. "Now, remember, friends, we're not calling for anything except that Jim Duff live up to the program he just published for himself--the square deal."

Several murmurs of protest came from the other raiders.

"I reckon, Rafe, you and Jeff had better step back and let the rest of us handle this thing," advised one of the party. "The pair of you are too chicken-livered for us."

"It's a lie, as anyone in Paloma knows," Rafe retorted coolly. "No--put up your shooters," as the hands of five or six men slid to their belts.

"There's no need of bad blood between us. All I ask is for Jim Duff to step back out of this."

"Am I the leader here or am I not?" demanded Duff boldly. "Wasn't it my interests that were first a.s.sailed by these fresh tenderfeet! Didn't you gentlemen come out to-night, to help me attend to my affair? Didn't you turn also to avenge the blow that has been dealt these cubs to poor George Ashby's prosperity?"

At hearing himself so sympathetically referred to, Ashby threw himself forward, a short, double-barreled shotgun in his hands.

"Yes, you, get back, you white-livered cowards!" commanded Ashby hoa.r.s.ely. "You let Duff and myself and the rest of us here handle these young hounds as they deserve to be treated. You, Rafe and Jeff, get out of this. You've no business here. You belong to the enemies of business interests in Paloma. The rest of us will settle with these business destroyers."

Ashby's eyes glowed with the unbridled fury of the lunatic. Yet Rafe Bodson did not waver.

"Gentlemen," he demanded coldly, "for what purpose did you bring these young fellows out here?"

"To lynch 'em!" came the hoa.r.s.e murmur.

"Then go ahead and do it, like men," ordered Bodson. "There are the trees. You have your ropes, and your men are ready. Remember, no cowardly treatment of young fellows whose hands are tied. Go on with the lynching and get it over with!"

CHAPTER XXI. A SPECIALIST IN "HONOR"

"Sir! Stop it, I tell you," quivered Duff, again stepping to the front.

"These young hounds shan't die until I've made them apologize for every insulting word they've said to me."

"Fine!" glowed Tom with enthusiasm.

"Great!"

"What ails you now, Reade?" demanded Duff, his face again darkening.

"You've just promised us that we shall live forever," returned Tom dryly.

Then he added, with a sigh:

"But I suppose that's only another lie--another specimen of a gambler's honor."

"Stand aside, Bodson! Moore, you get out of the way!" snarled the gambler, his anger again depriving him of all reason. "I'll have my way with these young hounds before we string 'em up."

"Let me at 'em!" implored Ashby, fingering his shotgun nervously. "Get out of my way. I don't want to pepper anyone else."

But Bodson and Moore, bad as they were some respects, stood their ground.

"Are you going to let us at them?" insisted Duff, his voice now broken and harsh from anger.

"Not for the purpose of bullying them!" insisted Rafe, without moving.

"Jeff, you're with me, aren't you?"

"Right by your side, pardner."

"Come on, then, boys!" called Duff, the note of rally in his tone. "Help me to drive this pair of traitors out of your company."

Like a flash Bodson's revolver was in his band. The muzzle covered the gambler.

"Jim Duff, down on your knees before I blow your bead off!"

The gambler started back, his face paling.

In the same instant Jeff Moore had also drawn his revolver, and held it ready for the first hostile sign from anyone in the group.