out of the door?"

"It ain't--it ain't a lynching party, boys? Oh, you fools, you'll hang
for it, every one of you!"

Sinclair confided to Buck Mason beside him: "Larsen is letting her talk
down to him. She'll spoil this here party."

"We're the voice of justice," said Judge Lodge pompously. "We ain't got
any other names. They wouldn't be nothing to hang."

"Don't you suppose I know you?" asked the girl, stiffening to her full
height. "D'you think those fool masks mean anything? I can tell you by
your little eyes, Denver Jim!"

Denver cringed suddenly behind the man before him.

"I know you by that roan hoss of yours, Oscar Larsen. Judge Lodge, they
ain't nobody but you that talks about 'justice' and 'voices.' Buck
Mason, I could tell you by your build, a mile off. Montana, you'd ought
to have masked your neck and your Adam's apple sooner'n your face. And
you're Bill Sandersen. They ain't any other man in these parts that
stands on one heel and points his off toe like a horse with a sore leg.
I know you all, and, if you touch a hair on Jig's head, I'll have you
into court for murder! You hear--murder! I'll have you hung, every man
jack!"

She had lowered her voice for the last part of this speech. Now she
made a sweeping gesture, closing her hand as if she had clutched their
destinies in the palm of her hand and could throw it into their faces.

"You-all climb right back on your hosses and feed 'em the spur."

They stood amazed, shifting from foot to foot, exchanging miserable
glances. She began to laugh; mysterious lights danced and twinkled in
her eyes. The laughter chimed away into words grown suddenly gentle,
suddenly friendly. Such a voice Riley Sinclair had never heard. It
walked into a man's heart, breaking the lock.

"Why, Buck Mason, you of all men to be mixed up in a deal like this.
And you, Oscar Larsen, after you and me had talked like partners so
many a time! Denver Jim, we'll have a good laugh about this necktie
party later on. Why, boys, you-all know that Jig ain't guilty of no
harm!"

"Sally," said the wretched Denver Jim, "things seemed to be sort of
pointing to a--"

There was a growl from the rear of the party, and Riley Sinclair strode
to the front and faced the girl. "They's a gent charged with murder
inside," he said. "Stand off, girl. You're in the way!"

Before she answered him, her teeth glinted. If she had been a man, she
would have struck him in the face. He saw that, and it p