“He’s already done so?” asked Tresler.
“Yup.”
“By Jove! The very thing, boys. Don’t roll up. Don’t do any lynching. The sheriff’s the boy for Red Mask.”
But Arizona, backed by Raw Harris, would have none of it. They were of the old-time stock who understood only old-time methods, and cordially resented any peaceful solution to the difficulty. They wanted a lynching, and no argument would dissuade them. And after much discussion it was Arizona’s final word that carried the day.
“Now, you see, Tresler,” he said huskily, for his voice was tired with sustained effort. “You’re the remarkablest smart ‘tenderfoot’ that ever I see. Say, you’re a right smart daddy—an’ I ain’t given to latherin’ soap-suds neither. But ther’s suthin’s I calc’late that no ‘tenderfoot,’ smart as he may be, is goin’ to locate right. Hoss thieves is hoss thieves, an’ needs stringin’. Ther’ ain’t nuthin’ for it but a rawhide rope fer them fellers. Guess I’ve seen more’n you’ve heerd tell of. Say, boys, who’s goin’ to see the boss? Guess he’s right ther’ on the verandah.”
Though there was no verbal reply as the wild American turned to move off, there was a general movement to follow him. Raw Harris started it. Pannikins were set down upon the ground, and, to a man, the rest followed in their leader’s wake. Tresler went too, but he went only because he knew it would be useless—even dangerous—to hold back. The general inclination was to follow the lead of this volcanic man. Besides, he had only voiced that which appealed to them all. The gospel of restraint was not in their natures. Only Joe Nelson really endorsed Tresler’s opinion. But then Joe was a man who had lived his youth out, and had acquired that level-headedness from experience which Tresler possessed instinctively. Besides, he was in touch with Diane. He had lived more than ten years on that ranch, during which time he had stood by watching with keenly observant eyes the doings of the cattle world about him. But he, too, in spite of his own good reason, moved on to the verandah with the rest.
And Jake saw the movement and understood, and he reached the verandah first and warned the blind man of their coming.
And Tresler’s prophecy was more than fulfilled. As they came they saw the rancher rise from his seat. He faced them, a tall, awesome figure in his long, full dressing-gown. His large, clean-cut head, his gray, clipped beard, the long aquiline nose, and, overshadowing all, his staring, red eyes; even on Arizona he had a damping effect.
“Well?” he questioned, as the men halted before him. Then, as no answer was forthcoming, he repeated his inquiry. “Well?”
And Arizona stepped to the front. “Wal, boss, it’s this a-ways,” he began. “These rustlers, I guess——”