he crossings might make it afoot,
but he couldn't take a hoss over."

Mick's lone eye burned more ominously than before. "Of course he can't.
He's run into a trap, and all we've got to do is to make a spread and
round him up. I'll bet a hundred to one we find him somewhere this side,
waiting for a freeze." Again the half-emptied bottle came from the shelf
and passed to the end of the line. "Have another whiskey on me, boys."

They silently drank. Then grim Stetson suggested that they drink
again--"to our success"; and cowboy Buck, not to be outdone, proposed
another toast--"to the necktie party--after." The big bottle, empty now,
dinned on the surface of the bar.

"By God! I hope we get him," flamed Grover. "He ought to be hung,
anyway. He killed his wife and burned up the body, they say, before he
left!"

"Someone must call for Rankin and Ben," suggested another, "Ben
particularly. He ought to be there at the finish. Lord knows he's got
grudge enough."

"We'll let him pull the trap," broke in Stetson grimly.

Of a sudden above the confusion there sounded a snarl, almost like the
cry of an animal. Surprised, for the moment silenced, the men turned in
the direction whence it had come.

"Rankin!" It was Mick Kennedy who spoke, but it was Mick transformed.
"Rankin!" The great veins of the bartender's neck swelled; the red face
congested until it became all but purple. "No! We won't go near him!
He'd put a stop to the whole thing. What we want is men, not cowards!"

A moment only the silence lasted. "All right," agreed Stetson. "Have
another, boys! We'll drop Rankin!"

Anew, louder than before, broke forth the confusion. The games of a
short time ago were forgotten. A heap of coin lay on the shelf behind
the bar where Mick, the banker, had placed it; but winner and loser
alike ignored its existence. The savage, ever so near the surface of
these rough frontiersmen, had taken complete possession of them. Drop
Rankin--forget civilization--ignore the slow practices of law and order!

"Come on!" someone yelled. "We're enough to do the business. To the
river!"

Instantly the crowd burst through the single front door. Momentarily
there followed a lull, while in the half darkness each rider found his
mount. Then sounded an "All ready!" from cowboy Buck, first in motion, a
straining of leather, a swish of quirts, a grunting of ponies as the
spurs dug into their flanks, a rush of leaping feet, a wild medley of
yells, an