ilantes disappeared, and presently only a quiet and curious crowd
was left round the grim scaffold and its dark swinging forms. Joan's one
glance showed that the vigilantes had swung Frenchy's dead body in the
noose he would have escaped by treachery. They had hanged him dead. What
a horrible proof of the temper of these newborn vigilantes! They had
left the bandits swinging. What sight was so appalling as these limp,
dark, swaying forms? Dead men on the ground had a dignity--at least the
dignity of death. And death sometimes had a majesty. But here both life
and death had been robbed and there was only horror. Joan felt that all
her life she would be haunted.

"Joan, we've got to leave Alder Creek," declared Cleve, finally. He rose
to his feet. The words seemed to have given him decision. "At first I
thought every bandit in the gang would run as far as he could from here.
But--you can't tell what these wild men will do. Gulden, for instance!
Common sense ought to make them hide for a spell. Still, no matter
what's what, we must leave.... Now, how to go?"

"Let's walk. If we buy horses or wait for the stage we'll have to see
men here--and I'm afraid--"

"But, Joan, there'll be bandits along the road sure. And the trails,
wherever they are, would be less safe."

"Let's travel by night and rest by day."

"That won't do, with so far to go and no pack."

"Then part of the way."

"No. We'd better take the stage for Bannack. If it starts at all it'll
be under armed guard. The only thing is--will it leave soon?... Come,
Joan, we'll go down into camp."

Dusk had fallen and lights had begun to accentuate the shadows. Joan
kept close beside Jim, down the slope, and into the road. She felt like
a guilty thing and every passing man or low-conversing group frightened
her. Still she could not help but see that no one noticed her or Jim,
and she began to gather courage. Jim also acquired confidence. The
growing darkness seemed a protection. The farther up the street they
passed, the more men they met. Again the saloons were in full blast.
Alder Creek had returned to the free, careless tenor of its way. A
few doors this side of the Last Nugget was the office of the stage and
express company. It was a wide tent with the front canvas cut out and
a shelf-counter across the opening. There was a dim, yellow lamplight.
Half a dozen men lounged in front, and inside were several more, two of
whom appeared to be armed guards. Jim addre