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hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of them lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little time before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.

ā€œShut up, will you-all?ā€ he was yelling. ā€œGive us a chance to hear somethinā€™. Easy nowā€”soho. There ainā€™t nobody goinā€™ to be hurt. Thetā€™s right; everybody quiet now. Letā€™s see whatā€™s come off.ā€

This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved Duaneā€™s gun.

ā€œAbe, put the gun down,ā€ he said. ā€œIt might go off. Here, give it to me. Now, whatā€™s wrong? Whoā€™s this roped gent, anā€™ whatā€™s he done?ā€

The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking hand and pointed.

ā€œThet thar fellerā€”heā€™s Buck Duane!ā€ he panted.

An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.

ā€œThe rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!ā€ cried an excited villager.

ā€œBuck Duane! Buck Duane!ā€

ā€œHang him!ā€

The cowboy silenced these cries.

ā€œAbe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?ā€ he asked, sharply.

ā€œWhyā€”he said so,ā€ replied the man called Abe.

ā€œWhat!ā€ came the exclamation, incredulously.

ā€œItā€™s a tarnal fact,ā€ panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was an old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his deed. ā€œHe like to ridā€™ his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off, says he was Buck Duane, anā€™ he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad.ā€

This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had restored order again some one had slipped the noose-end of Duaneā€™s rope over his head.

ā€œUp with him!ā€ screeched a wild-eyed youth.

The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.

ā€œAbe, if you ainā€™t drunk or crazy tell thet over,ā€ ordered Abeā€™s interlocutor.

With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his former statement.

ā€œIf heā€™s Buck Duane howā€™n hell did you get hold of his gun?ā€ bluntly queried the cowboy.

ā€œWhyā€”he set down tharā€”anā€™ he kind of hid his face on his hand. Anā€™ I grabbed his gun anā€™ got the drop on him.ā€

What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.

ā€œStranger, I reckon youā€™d better speak up for yourself,ā€ he said.

That stilled the crowd as no command had done.

ā€œIā€™m Buck Duane, all right.ā€ said Duane, quietly. ā€œIt was this wayā€”ā€

The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out a powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duaneā€™s blouse.

ā€œSomethinā€™ queer here. But if youā€™re Duane youā€™re sure in bad. Any fool ought to know that. You mean it, then?ā€

ā€œYes.ā€

ā€œRode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters? Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad, huh?ā€

ā€œNo,ā€ replied Duane. ā€œYour citizen here misrepresented things. He seems a little off his head.ā€

ā€œReckon he is. Somebody is, thatā€™s sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, anā€™ all his doings?ā€

ā€œIā€™m Duane; yes. But I wonā€™t stand for the blame of things I never did. Thatā€™s why Iā€™m here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward. Until now I never was within half a dayā€™s ride of this town. Iā€™m blamed for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to send for Jeff Aiken.ā€

ā€œAnā€™ then you set down anā€™ let this old guy throw your own gun on you?ā€ queried the cowboy in amazement.

ā€œI guess thatā€™s it,ā€ replied Duane.

ā€œWell, itā€™s powerful strange, if youā€™re really Buck Duane.ā€

A man elbowed his way into the circle.

ā€œItā€™s Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in moreā€™n one place,ā€ he said. ā€œSibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I donā€™t know if heā€™s locoed or what. But I do know heā€™s the genuine Buck Duane. Any one whoā€™d ever seen him onct would never forget him.ā€

ā€œWhat do you want to see Aiken for?ā€ asked the cowboy Sibert.

ā€œI want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife.ā€

ā€œWhy?ā€

ā€œBecause Iā€™m innocent, thatā€™s all.ā€

ā€œSuppose we send for Aiken anā€™ he hears you anā€™ doesnā€™t believe you; what then?ā€

ā€œIf he wonā€™t believe meā€”why, then my caseā€™s so badā€”Iā€™d be better off dead.ā€

A momentary silence was broken by Sibert.

ā€œIf this isnā€™t a queer deal! Boys, reckon weā€™d better send for Jeff.ā€

ā€œSomebody went fer him. Heā€™ll be cominā€™ soon,ā€ replied a man.

Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed out above and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a number of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with hard faces, like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these seemed agitated by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying glances upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck. Women were more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated, seemed fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings.

Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duaneā€™s wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged!

ā€œThar comes Jeff Aiken now,ā€ called a man, loudly.

The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness.

Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was that of fierce energy.

The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men.

ā€œHold on, Jeff,ā€ he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He spoke so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aikenā€™s face. At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken and Sibert were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a pressing of many bodies, hoarse cries and flinging handsā€”again the insane tumult was about to break outā€”the demand for an outlawā€™s blood, the call for a wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texasā€™s bloody soil.

Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with him beat and cuffed in vain.

ā€œJeff, will you listen?ā€ broke in Sibert, hurriedly, his hand on the other manā€™s arm.

Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control of themselves under circumstances like these, recognized the spirit that dominated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There were lines of bitter grief deep round his lips. If Duane ever felt the meaning of death he felt it then.

ā€œSure this ā€˜s your game, Aiken,ā€ said Sibert. ā€œBut hear me a minute. Reckon thereā€™s no doubt about this man beinā€™ Buck Duane. He seen the placard out at the crossroads. He rides in to Shirley. He says heā€™s Buck Duane anā€™ heā€™s lookinā€™ for Jeff Aiken. Thatā€™s all clear enough. You know how these gunfighters go lookinā€™ for trouble. But hereā€™s what stumps me. Duane sits down there on the bench and lets old Abe Strickland grab his gun ant get the drop on him. Moreā€™n that, he gives me some strange talk about how, if he couldnā€™t make you believe heā€™s innocent, heā€™d better be dead. You see for yourself Duane ainā€™t drunk or crazy or locoed. He doesnā€™t strike me as a man who rode in here huntinā€™ blood. So I reckon youā€™d better hold on till you hear what he has to say.ā€

Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry-eyed giant turned his gaze upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not yet subservient to passion. Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane would care to have judge him in a critical moment like this.

ā€œListen,ā€ said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady on Aikenā€™s, ā€œIā€™m Buck Duane. I never lied to any man in my life. I was forced into outlawry. Iā€™ve never had a chance to leave the country. Iā€™ve killed men to save my own life. I never intentionally harmed any woman. I rode thirty miles to-dayā€”deliberately to see what this reward was, who made it, what for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of my soul. So I rode in here to find youā€”to tell you this: I never saw Shirley before to-day. It was impossible for me to haveā€”killed your wife. Last September I was two hundred miles north of here on the upper Nueces. I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you I couldnā€™t murder a woman. I havenā€™t any idea why such a deed should be laid at my hands. Itā€™s just that wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons you have for holding me responsible. I only knowā€”youā€™re wrong. Youā€™ve been deceived. And see here, Aiken. You understand Iā€™m a miserable man. Iā€™m about broken, I guess. I donā€™t care any more for life, for anything. If you canā€™t look me in the eyes, man to man, and believe what I sayā€”why, by God! you can kill me!ā€

Aiken heaved a great breath.

ā€œBuck Duane, whether Iā€™m impressed or not by what you say neednā€™t matter. Youā€™ve had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear. The thing is we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl Lucy saw my wifeā€™s assailant.ā€

He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.

ā€œSomebodyā€”you, Sibertā€”go for Lucy. Thatā€™ll settle this thing.ā€

Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he did not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which might be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child.

The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image of a slight girl clinging to Sibertā€™s hand. He could not see distinctly. Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid. Then he fetched her closer to Duane.

ā€œLucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?ā€ asked Aiken, huskily and low. ā€œIs he the oneā€”who came in the house that dayā€”struck you downā€”and dragged mamaā€”?ā€

Aikenā€™s voice failed.

A lightning flash seemed to clear Duaneā€™s blurred sight. He saw a pale, sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible moment in Duaneā€™s life ever equaled this one of silenceā€”of suspense.

ā€œItā€™s ainā€™t him!ā€ cried the child.

Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duaneā€™s neck and unwinding the bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.

ā€œSee there, my locoed gents, how easy youā€™d hang the wrong man,ā€ burst out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. ā€œYou-all are a lot of wise rangers. Haw! haw!ā€

He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duaneā€™s holster.

ā€œYou Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But donā€™t try the like again. And, men, Iā€™ll gamble thereā€™s a hell of a lot of bad work Buck Duaneā€™s named forā€”which all he never done. Clear away there. Whereā€™s his hoss? Duane, the roadā€™s open out of Shirley.ā€

Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane

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