"What's the matter with you, Rafe?" demanded the gambler, in a half-coaxing tone.

"Nothing," Bodson a.s.sured him calmly, "except that I'm going to blow your head off if you aren't down on your knees before I've counted three! One--two--th--"

Duff dropped to his knees, holding his hands high in air.

"Now apologize for calling us traitors," admonished Rafe. "Do it handsomely, too, while you're about it."

"Rafe," protested Jim Duff, "you, know that I said what I did only because I was angry. I know you're a gentleman, and you know that I know it. If I've hurt your feelings, I'm sorry, a thousand times over."

"Jim, you're a good deal of a sneak, aren't you?" inquired Rafe, in a voice that sounded pleasant enough, but which carried a warning in its tone.

"Yes," Duff admitted. "I guess I'm a good deal of a sneak."

"Get up on your feet, then. We understand one another," said Bodson. "Go ahead, if you want to, and carry out your plans for a merry evening. But don't make the mistake of calling ugly names again, and don't forget all you've said about the square deal. Hang these tenderfeet, if that's what you want to do, but don't hit men without first giving them a chance to hit back."

Duff, shaking partly from fear, though more from a sense of his humiliation, rose to his feet. For a moment he stood choking down his varied emotions. Then, with an attempt at his old-time, suave banter, he inquired:

"Are you young gentlemen ready for the collar and neck-tie party that we've planned to give you?"

"As ready as you are," observed Tom dryly.

"And you?" asked Duff, turning to Hazelton. "Are you ready?"

"I'm not particular about feeling a lariat around my neck," Harry answered, "but I'll follow my friend Reade anywhere--even where you propose to send us."

"Ay, but that's courage of the kind you don't expect to find in a blamed tenderfoot!" remarked Jeff Moore, resting a hand first on Tom's shoulder and then on Harry's.

"Why?" asked Tom. "Does it surprise you?"

"It sh.o.r.e does," replied Jeff.

"Is courage a matter of geography, then?" Tom inquired.

"I--I--pardner, you've got me there," Jeff admitted, looking puzzled.

"Yet, somehow, I never looked for much courage in a fellow who hailed from east of the Mississippi."

George Ashby had been looking on during the last few moments, his eyes glittering strangely. Yet, as he said nothing, the attention of the others had turned from him.

Jeff Moore happened to turn just in time to see the muzzle of the shotgun turned fully on Tom Reade's waist line, and Ashby's forefinger resting on one of the triggers.

Bang! spoke the gun, a sheet of flame leaped forth.

Tom Reade did not even start. All his nerve had come to the surface in that instant. He was unharmed, for Jeff's sweeping arm had knocked aside the muzzle of the gun and the shot had entered the leg of one of the raiders.

"What'd you do that for, Jeff?" groaned the injured man, sinking to the alkali dust.

But Moore was busy with the mad hotel keeper, having clinched with him, and now being engaged in taking away the shotgun, one barrel of which was still loaded.

"Stand back there, friends," warned Rafe Bodson, who still held his revolver in his right hand. "We don't want to see any more of the party hurt."

Jeff had the gun in a moment, despite the insane fury with which Ashby fought.

"Take care of this, Rafe," requested Jeff, turning over the gun, which Bodson received with his left hand.

Ashby, momentarily free, sprang at the new bolder of the weapon, but Moore tripped him and fell upon him.

The other men stood by as though fascinated, not interfering. Perhaps they felt that their safety depended upon Ashby's being disarmed.

There was a short, sharp scuffle on the ground after which Moore rose, leaving the hotel man with his hands tied behind his back.

"And I request," remarked Moore, "that no gentleman present cut the knots that I have tied. It'll be a favor to me to have Ashby left alone for the present."

"Now, then, Rafe or Jeff," spoke the gambler, mustering up what remained of his courage, "since you two have taken charge of affairs, won't you be good enough to inform us what your pleasure is?"

"We're not in charge," retorted Bodson sullenly. "All we've undertaken to do is to look out for the square deal that you promised, Duff, and which you didn't exhibit in a way that we liked. As for the rest, go ahead when you like--but don't do any more hitting with your fists."

"We'll go ahead with the lariat, then?" hinted Duff eagerly.

"If that's the pleasure of the gentlemen," Bodson agreed, bowing slightly.

To the gambler it seemed the opportune moment to rush matters.

"Bring up lariats, two of you," Duff ordered, turning around to the others. "And don't waste time over it."

The rawhide ropes were brought. The gambler himself tied the nooses, testing them to see that they ran freely.

"Bring Reade and Hazelton under the trees," was Duff's next order, which was obeyed. Bodson and Moore, their weapons still in their hands, followed, keeping keen watch over the way the affair was conducted.

"Any choice of trees Reade?" inquired Jin Duff.

"None," answered Tom shortly. His face was pallid and set, though he did not show any other sign of fear.

"Hazelton?"

"One tree is as good as another," Harry answered in a strangely quiet voice.

In the midst of an impressive silence, and with motions that seemed oddly unreal to the tended victims, Duff placed the two young engineers.

A lariat was thrown over a low limb of each of the trees. Then, with slightly trembling hands the gambler adjusted a over the neck of each bound boy.

CHAPTER XXII. TOM AND HARRY VANISH

"How d'ye like that, Rafe?" queried Jeff Moore, as Jim Duff stepped back and viewed the young engineers with a diabolical smile before giving the fatal signal.

"I don't like it," muttered Bodson.