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Presently he met three men riding into town. They nodded at him,

in the friendly, casual way of the outdoors West. The gait of the

pony was a leisurely walk, and its rider was industriously

executing, "I Met My Love In the Alamo."

"Going the wrong way, aren't you?" one of the three suggested.

"Don't you worry, I'll be there when y'u hang that guy they

caught last night," he told them with a grin.

From time to time he met others. All travel seemed to be headed

townward. There was excitement in the air. In the clear

atmosphere voices carried a long way, and all the conversation

that came to him was on the subjects of the war for the range,

the battle of the previous evening, and the lynching scheduled to

take place in a few hours. He realized that he had escaped none

too soon, for it was certain that as the crowd in town

multiplied, they would set a watch on the jail to prevent Brandt

from slipping out with his prisoner.