"I expect we'll have to turn him loose, boys," Jonesy said sarcastically, returning from his horse, and shaking out the coil of rope.
"Oh, I guess we'll string him up all right," Rafe said with confidence.
"Don't let them, Billy!" begged Hazel.
Billy made instant decision. "'Nds up!"
Which command was backed by a six-shooter trained on the center of Rafe's abdomen. The way the Tuckleton hands flew upward and locked thumbs above the Tuckleton hat was gratifying. But the Tuckleton face was empurpled with rage.
"Of course," remarked Billy, "one of you may hit me, but if I go Rafe goes with me."
"It's all right, boys," Rafe assured his hesitating followers in a voice thick with anger. "Lemme argue this thing."
"There'll be no hanging here," said Billy.
"You bet not!" chimed in the voice of Riley Tyler from a position thirty yards distant on the right.
Riley had returned with the water and whisky. He had been sufficiently thoughtful to bring with him a double-barreled shotgun. He stood, the firearm held level with his hip, the blunt twin muzzles gaping at the Tuckleton outfit.