“I saw you untie the girl's hands.”
“You did? Well, d—n me!”
“Nebraska, if I save your life will you quit rustling cattle? You weren't cut out for a thief.”
“Will I? D—n me! I'll be straight an' decent. I'll take a job ridin' for you, stranger, an' prove it.”
“Cut him loose from the others,” said Hare. He scrutinized the line of rustlers. Several were masked in black. “Take off those masks!”
“No! Those men go to their graves masked.” Again the strange twinge of pain crossed John Caldwell's face.
“Ah, I see,” exclaimed Hare. Then quickly: “I couldn't recognize the other man anyhow; I don't know him. But Mescal can tell. He saved her and I'll save him. But how?”
Every rustler, except the masked ones standing stern and silent, clamored that he was the one to be saved.
“Hurry back home,” said Caldwell in Hare's ear. “Tell them to fetch Mescal. Find out and hurry back. Time presses. The Mormons are wavering. You've got only a few minutes.”
Hare slipped out of the crowd, sped up the road, jumped the fence on the run, and burst in upon the Bishop and his family.