And it was even so, for by the end of another hour the two strangers came riding in and were brought forward to the steps where Kenset lay, to clasp his hand and greet him with all the pleasure of previous acquaintance.
Then they requested that a space be cleared to the end of ear-shot and together with Kenset, Tharon, Billy, and all the Vigilantes, they held a long and earnest colloquy.
At its end Kenset’s eyes were deep and troubled, but Tharon’s were beginning to glow with the old fire that all the Holding knew, the leaping flame that rose and died and rose again, exciting to the beholder, promising, threatening, unfathomable.
“Why, it’s a cinch!” said O’Hallan, “a dead moral cinch! Don’t see how it’s held on like it has. Couldn’t have in any other place in the good old 281 U. S. A. but this God forsaken hole! Well named, Lost Valley! Why, we’ve found enough evidence already to convict a dozen men! Your Courtrey’s the man that planned a dozen murders, I can see that, and he’s pulled off a lot of them himself. The people are talking now, rumbling from one end of the Valley to the other. We’ve had to hold up our hands to ward them off lately. Your Vigilantes here have opened up since we got them together and showed some of them your letter. You were wise to tell us to go ahead if you were not here––what did you look for?”
“Just about what I got,” said Kenset smiling, “and I wanted things to be pushed through anyway.”
“Well,––they’re pushing,” said Burn-Harris. “Your little old sheriff has had the fear-of-the-Lord put into him somewhat. He’s shaking in his boots about the snow-packer. There’s only one thing lacking to make our grip close down on Courtrey, and that’s vital––the gun with the untrue firing pin you speak about in your instructions.”
“Not lackin’,” said Tharon grimly, “we’ve got it, Mister.”
The Secret Service man whirled to her.