f
the most comfortable he had ever seen--outside of pictures. At the
farther end a great fireplace filled the width of the room. The inside
of the log walls had been carefully and smoothly finished by some
master axman. There were plenty of chairs, homemade and very
comfortable with cushions. A little organ stood against the wall to one
side. No wonder the schoolteacher had chosen this for his boarding
place!

Riley made his voice larger. "Gaspar!"

Then a door opened slowly, while Sinclair dropped his hand on the butt
of his gun and waited. The door moved again. A head appeared and
observed him.

"Pronto!" declared Riley Sinclair, and a little man slipped into full
view.

He was a full span shorter, Riley felt, than a man had any right to be.
Moreover, he was too delicately made. He had a head of bright blond
hair, thick and rather on end. The face was thin and handsome, and the
eyes impressed Riley as being at once both bright and weary. He was
wearing a dressing gown, the first Riley had ever seen.

"Get your hands out of those pockets!" He emphasized the command with a
jerk of his gun hand, and the arms of the schoolteacher flew up over
his head. Lean, fragile hands, Riley saw them to be. Altogether it was
the most disgustingly inefficient piece of manhood that he had ever
seen.

"Slide out here, Gaspar. They's some gents here that wants to look you
over."

The voice that answered him was pitched so low as to be almost
unintelligible. "What do they want?"

"Step lively, friend! They want to see a gent that lets a woman do his
fighting for him."

He had dropped his gun contemptuously back into its holster. Now he
waved the schoolteacher to the door with his bare hands.

Gaspar sidled past as if a loaded gun were about to explode in his
direction. He reached the door, his arms still held stiffly above his
head, but, at the sight of the masked faces, one arm dropped to his
side, and the other fell across his face. He slumped against the side
of the door with a moan.

It was Judge Lodge who broke the silence. "Guilty, boys. Ain't one look
at the skunk enough to prove it?"

"Make it all fair and legal, gents," broke in Larsen.

Buck Mason strode straight up to the prisoner.

"Was you over to Quade's house yesterday evening?"

The other shrank away from the extended, pointing arm.

"Yes," he stammered. "I--I--what does all this mean?"

Mason whirled on his companions, still pointing to the schoolma