horns, the horses sliding with flattened pasterns.
The black lunging on, pitched forward as it was relieved of a sudden
weight and its rider jerked hideously from the saddle, hands clawing at
the ropes that choked his gullet, wrenching, sinking deep, shutting off
air and light with a horrid taste of blood and the noise of thundering
waters.

The ropers wheeled their mounts and galloped back toward the woods, the
limp body of their victim dragging, bouncing over the ground. The third
rode to meet Sandy. It was Brandon. He hailed Sandy with surprise.

"How'd you happen here this time of night, Bourke? Not looking for me?"

"No. I was looking for the man you've just caught. I was about a minute
too late."

Brandon glanced curiously at Sandy, caught by the grim note in his
voice. But he made no comment.

"Sorry if I spoiled your private vendetta, Bourke. You can have him,
what's left of him, if you want. We were going to swing him from a tree
with a card on his chest presenting him to Hereford County, with our
compliments. As it is, Bourke, I'd be relieved if you'd keep out of this
entirely. Even forgetting you'd met us. We're within our rights, but
we've done some cleaning up to-night that we might have to explain if we
stayed too long in the state. We got the goods on Plimsoll; one of his
men whose girl Plimsoll had stolen helped us to pin them on him. We met
him at Hereford. I'm going to send the facts and proofs to your
authorities. They may not approve of lynch law these days, but they
wouldn't act--and we did. I don't fancy they'll bother us any. He wasn't
worth the ropes he spoiled. Just as well you kept out of the mix-up."

Sandy said nothing. There was no need to mention Molly's adventure.

"Want to be sure it's him?" asked Brandon. "Let's look at the black
first. He gave us a hard chase, but we were too many for him and rounded
him up."

They found the black stallion stretched out on the turf with its neck
curiously twisted. Tired out, it had fallen clumsily and broken the
vertebrae. It was quite dead. Both men looked at it silently, with a
mental tribute to a good horse.

The body of Plimsoll lay at the foot of a big pine. The loops were still
tight about his neck. One of the ropes had been tossed over a bough. The
two men had dismounted. They nodded to Sandy as he came up with Brandon.
He had seen them before on their first unsuccessful trip to the
Waterline. They were horse-owners, responsible men, wh