"Johnson and McMurdy," said Kal, pointing to Bill; "take him to Carbon and put him on the train."
The two burly cowmen hustled Bill over to the corral, and Bill was thankful that fate had decreed that he need not be present at the ghastly moment. Kal looked the situation over calmly.
"When it is done, every one but Curley hit the trail and forget it. Are you ready, Calthorpe?"
"Ready!" and the voice was calm and steady now.
"Anything to say?"
"Nothing."
"Let her go."
Up went the body into the air that seemed to grow suddenly still and cold.
In a twinkling the end of the rope was made fast to a cleat in the side of the barn, and almost before this was done the crowd melted—vanished. There was, in fact, a horrible haste to leave the uncanny thing behind. Almost before it had begun to twist and twirl, Curley found himself alone with It. He shuddered, turned away, pulled a flask from his pocket and took a long pull, put the cork back, and tried once more to look at It. His legs kind of faded under him and he sat down at the foot of the rock that was Nat-u-ritch's grave; his jaw fell open and he stared at It, not being able now to look away. He stood this for a moment, then he succumbed to an overpowering sense of horror.
"I ain't agoin' to stay here and watch that," he gasped.