the gaunt man, who still waved Duane's gun.

"Abe, put the gun down," he said. "It might go off. Here, give it to me.
Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's he done?"

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

"Thet thar feller--he's Buck Duane!" he panted.

An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.

"The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!" cried an
excited villager.

"Buck Duane! Buck Duane!"

"Hang him!"

The cowboy silenced these cries.

"Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?" he asked, sharply.

"Why--he said so," replied the man called Abe.

"What!" came the exclamation, incredulously.

"It's a tarnal fact," panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was
an old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his
deed. "He like to rid' his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off,
says he was Buck Duane, an' he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad."

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 Duane's rope
over his head.

"Up with him!" screeched a wild-eyed youth.

The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.

"Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over," ordered Abe's
interlocutor.

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

"If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?" bluntly
queried the cowboy.

"Why--he set down thar--an' he kind of hid his face on his hand. An' I
grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him."

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

"Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself," he said.

That stilled the crowd as no command had done.

"I'm Buck Duane, all right." said Duane, quietly. "It was this way--"

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 Duane's blouse.

"Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool
ought to know that. You mean it, then?"

"Yes."

"Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? S