you. It's strange. I don't understand.

Last night my sons were visited by many men, coming and going in twos and
threes till late. They didn't sleep in their beds. I know not what to

think."
Hare remembered John Caldwell's enigmatic face.

"Have the rustlers really come?" asked a young woman, whose eyes were red
and cheeks tear-stained

"They have. Nineteen in all. I counted them," answered Hare.
The young woman burst out weeping afresh, and the wailing of the others

answered her. Hare left the cottage He picked up his rifle and went down
through the orchard to the hiding-place of the horses. Silvermane

pranced and snorted his gladness at sight of his master. The desert king
was fit for a grueling race. Black Bolly quietly cropped the long grass.

Hare saddled the stallion to have him in instantreadiness, and then
returned to the front of the yard.

He heard the sound of a gun down the road, then another, and several
shots following in quick succession. A distant angry murmuring and

trampling of many feet drew Hare to the gate. Riderless mustangs were
galloping down the road; several frightened boys were fleeing across the

square; not a man was in sight. Three more shots cracked, and the low
murmur and trampling swelled into a hoarseuproar. Hare had heard that

sound before; it was the tumult of mob-violence. A black dense throng of
men appeared crowding into the main street, and crossing toward the

square. The procession had some order; it was led and flanked by mounted
men. But the upflinging of many arms, the craning of necks, and the

leaping of men on the outskirts of the mass, the pressureinward and the
hideous roar, proclaimed its real character.

"By Heaven!" exclaimed Hare. "The Mormons have risen against the
rustlers. I understand now. John Caldwell spent last night in secretly

rousing his neighbors. They have surprised the rustlers. Now what?"
Hare vaulted the fence and ran down the road A compact mob of men, a

hundred or more, had halted in the village under the wide - spreading
cottonwoods. Hare suddenly grasped the terrible significance of those

outstretched branches, and out of the thought grew another which made him
run at bursting break-neck speed.

"Open up! Let me in!" he yelled to the thicklythronged circle. Right
and left he flung men. "Make way!" His piercing voice stilled the angry

murmur. Fierce men with weapons held aloft fell back from his face.
"Dene's spy!" they cried.

The circle opened and closed upon him. He saw bound rustlers under armed
guard. Four still forms were on the ground. Holderness lay

outstretched, a dark - red blot staining his gray shirt. Flinty-faced
Mormons, ruthless now as they had once been mild, surrounded the

rustlers. John Caldwell stood foremost, with ashen lips breaking
bitterly into speech:

"Mormons, this is Dene's spy, the man who killed Holderness!"
The listeners burst into the short stern shout of men proclaiming a

leader in war.
"What's the game?" demanded Hare.

"A fair trial for the rustlers, then a rope," replied John Caldwell. The
low ominous murmur swelled through the crowd again.

"There are two men here who have befriended me. I won't see them
hanged."

"Pick them out!" A strange ripple of emotion made a fleeting break in
John Caldwell's hard face.

Hare eyed the prisoners.
"Nebraska, step out here," said he.

"I reckon you're mistaken," replied the rustler, his blue eyes intently
on Hare. "I never seen you before. An' I ain't the kind of a feller to

cheat the man you mean."
"I saw you untie the girl's hands."

"You did? Well, d--n me!"
"Nebraska, if I save your life will you quit rustling cattle? You

weren't cut out for a thief."
"Will I? D--n me! I'll be straight an' decent. I'll take a job ridin'

for you, stranger, an' prove it."
"Cut him loose from the others," said Hare. He scrutinized the line of

rustlers. Several were masked in black." Take off those masks!"
"No! Those men go to their graves masked." Again the strange twinge of

pain crossed John Caldwell's face.
"Ah, I see," exclaimed Hare. Then quickly: "I couldn't recognize the

other man anyhow; I don't know him. But Mescal can tell. He saved her
and I'll save him. But how?"

Every rustler, except the masked ones standing stern and silent, clamored
that he was the one to be saved.

"Hurry back home," said Caldwell in Hare's ear "Tell them to fetch
Mescal. Find out and hurry back. Time presses. The Mormons are

wavering. You've got only a few minutes."
Hare slipped out of the crowd, sped up the road, jumped the fence on the

run, and burst in upon the Bishop and his family.
"No danger--don't be alarmed--all's well," he panted. 'The rustlers are

captured. I want Mescal. Quick! Where is she? Fetch her, somebody."
One of the women glided from the room. Hare caught the clicking of a

latch, the closing of a door, hollow footfalls descending on stone, and
dying away under the cottage. They rose again, ending in swiftly

pattering footsteps. Like a whirlwind Mescal came through the hall,
black hair flying, dark eyes beaming.

"My darling!" Oblivious of the Mormons he swung her up and held her in
his arms." Mescal! Mescal!"

When he raised his face from the tumbling mass of her black hair, the
Bishop and his family had left the room.

"Listen, Mescal. Be calm. I'm safe. The rustlers are prisoners. One
of them released you from Holderness. Tell me which one?"

"I don't know," replied Mescal. "I've tried to think. I didn't see his
face; I can't remember his voice."

"Think! Think! He'll be hanged if you don't recall something to identify
him. He deserves a chance. Holderness's crowd are thieves, murderers.

But two were not all bad. That showed the night you were at Silver Cup.
I saved Nebraska--"

"Were you at Silver Cup? Jack!"
"Hush! don't interrupt me. We must save this man who saved you. Think'

Mescal! Think!"
"Oh! I can't. What--how shall I remember?"

"Something about him. Think of his coat, his sleeve. You must remember
something. Did you see his hands?"

"Yes, I did--when he was loosing the cords," said Mescal, eagerly.
"Long, strong fingers. I felt them too. He has a sharp rough wart on

one hand, I don't know which. He wears a leather wristband."
"That's enough!" Hare bounded out upon the garden walk and raced back to

the crowded square. The uneasycircle stirred and opened for him to
enter. He stumbled over a pile of lassoes which had not been there when

he left. The stony Mormons waited; the rustlers coughed and shifted
their feet. John Caldwell turned a gray face. Hare bent over the three

dead rustlers lying with Holderness, and after a moment of anxious
scrutiny he rose to confront the line of prisoners.

"Hold out your hands."
One by one they complied. The sixth rustler in the line, a tall fellow,

completely masked, refused to do as he was bidden. Twice Hare spoke.
The rustler twisted his bound hands under his coat.

"Let's see them," said Hare, quickly. He grasped the fellow's arm and
received a violent push that almost knocked him over. Grappling with the

rustler, he pulled up the bound hands, in spite of fierceresistance, and
there were the long fingers, the sharp wart, the laced wristband.

"Here's my man!" he said.
"No," hoarsely mumbled the rustler. The perspiration ran down his corded

neck; his breast heaved convulsively.