LITMIR.BIZ

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of medicine will go a long way toward doin' away with the necessity of a ridin' committee. After that, let us confine our job to catchin' and provin' a rustler guilty, and let the court pronounce sentence."

      Fee, of the Flying F spoke briefly. Short-ridge, another large owner, was just as brief but a great deal more vehement. Then there was a lull in which Fear Langdell waited for further war talk. Denver realized that Langdell expected some fighting speech that would weld everybody together and actually put the vigilante proposal into enthusiastic commission. Leverage, by his slight touch of reasonable hesitancy, had just missed setting off the spark, and the increasing delay served somehow to dampen the meeting. Langdell looked about to find the proper man. His eyes lighted on Denver.

      "Dave, you've been silent a long while. Get up and say your mind."

      "I'm listenin'," drawled Denver.

      "Let others do the listenin'," countered Langdell impatiently. "We expect you to talk."

      Denver rose, feeling the eyes of his three partners boring into him curiously. Niland had turned nervous, and Steve Steers hitched forward; but Cal Steele had a queerly set cast to his cheeks and had dropped his pose of sleepiness.

      "Maybe you expect me to talk," stated Denver coolly, "but you can't expect me to follow the piper. I'm not built that way. Granting most of your bear talk to be true, and granting the necessity for fighting back, I'm sorry to say I can't see this vigilante stuff and won't be a party to it."

      "Why not?" snapped Langdell angrily.

      "If a man rustled me," went on Dave, "I'd personally go out and hunt him, and I'd personally settle the account. I wouldn't ask anybody else to do it. I wouldn't shove such a chore on the shoulders of a whole community. I wouldn't ask another man to be my catspaw, and I'm damned if I'll be catspaw for a few men who are well able to keep their own range clean."

      "Afraid of lead, uh?" demanded Langdell sarcastically.

      "You know my record better," said Dave softly, "and I take exception to the remark. Are you willing to stand accountable for it, Colonel Langdell?"

      The drawling question fell flatly across the utter silence. Rather abruptly Langdell made amends. "I did not mean that personally, Denver. But you make a mistake. This is not a one-man affair. The whole country is interested."

      "I'm not. None of my beefs been borrowed. For that matter, nobody within ten miles of Sundown's been bothered. The night ridin' so far is all across Sky Peak. Why don't the gentlemen yonder do their own hangin'? I say I don't understand all the steam and smoke certain parties have been throwin' out lately. This vigilante business is too dangerous. Ridin' committees never know when to quit, and they don't always use good judgment. I'll admit the stage robberies hit nearer home—but that is distinctly a matter for the sheriff. And if the present one doesn't work, why not get another? That's also a matter that gets me to wonderin'."

      A voice from the back of the room boomed out. "By God, I don't know as I'll accept them remarks, Denver!"

      It was the sheriff, Magnus Ortez. Denver turned to him. "You're a public official and open to public discussion, Ortez. And I never make a remark I'm not willing to stand by."

      He had touched off the long-suppressed anger of the aggrieved ranchers and the warlike ones. The opera house began to sing with the rising clamor. Here and there Denver saw men who sat still and refused to join, but he felt he had played into Langdell's hand unconsciously, had served as a whip. Langdell was tightly triumphant and shouted another question:

      "You believe in coddlin' these outlaws, uh? You believe in lettin' crookedness get by?"

      "I believe in mindin' my own business until other people won't let me. I run my affairs. Let others do the same. As for crooks, that's an open question. Quite a few very respectable citizens in the West made their strictly honest fortune out of a half-dozen stray cattle. I don't consider myself any fit judge of honesty. Put up a million dollars for the man able to take it—and who will be so damned honest then? You wanted to hear me talk—and you got your wish."

      "I move," shouted a voice, "we establish a vigilante committee and name a leader who is to choose his own men, work in his own way, and receive our full sanction and support!"

      "Second!"

      "Vote it!"

      They rose to vote. Denver and his three partners kept their seats: Steers a little awkward but absolutely loyal to Denver; Niland contemptuous of the whole affair; Cal Steele with his eyes closed and his face entirely passive. Niland muttered, "They are as crazy as loons!"

      "Passed!" shouted Langdell. "And I make this motion, even if it is not my place to do so! I move Jake Leverage to be ridin' boss of the vigilantes with absolute authority and all our resources to call on!"

      "Vote it!"

      Leverage's voice rose futilely against the rising tumult. The Association, with at last a course of aggressiveness suggested, let itself go.

      "Stampede!" whooped Niland, grinning.

      "Everything said about outlaws here today is right," muttered Denver, "but there's something rotten about it, and I can't seem to get straightened out. All I know is I'll be no party to it."

      Cal Steele opened his eyes and said briefly, "You're right, Dave."

      "I do what you boys do," affirmed Steers. "All the same to me."

      The clamor subsided. Leverage was on his feet. "I didn't ask for this," he said. "I don't like the responsibility, either. But I'm not the kind to bellyache and then lay down when my hand's called. All I want to say is I'll go through to the best of my ability, and I'll gather my men. I want your support. And I don't want any of you fellows to be unfriendly with me, even if you don't approve my course. I'll be as fair as I can."

      "As fair as the pack will let him be," muttered Denver, and turned out of the hall. "I hate to see old Jake Leverage the goat," he told the others when they came abreast of him.

      An elderly man hurried up and spoke quietly to Denver. "I'd of gone in if you had," said he. "But you changed my mind, as well as a few others. So just remember, you've got support."

      "Thanks," said Denver and studied the street.

      Stinger Dann still stood under the Palace gallery, sullen and indifferent. The sight of him roused Denver's thoughts to a different angle, and he began to look more carefully about him. There was a strange rider loitering by the blacksmith shop, and another man he knew only by reputation posted at Grogan's. The arrangement of the three drew his brows together.

      "I think it's time for a drink," suggested Niland.

      Cal Steele roused himself from his distrait moodiness. "Any time's time for a drink."

      Meems and Wango were conferring earnestly at the entrance to Grogan's, and Meems winked heavily at Denver. "It ain't possible, it ain't even natural, but the fact remains, nev'less."

      "All right," agreed Denver, "I'll bite. What is it?"

      "That Englishman's got a name that's the original stem-winder of all monickers I ever heard. It takes two to git a bit on it. Ready, Pete?"

      "Ahuh, shoot!"

      Meems drew a deep breath. "Almaric—"

      "St. Jennifer—" lisped Wango in turn.

      "Crèvecoeur—"

      "Nightingale!"

      Cal Steele repeated it rather gently to himself. "Almaric St. Jennifer Crèvecoeur Nightingale. His father and mother loved him. Where'd you find out, Buck?"

      "It's on the hotel register," asseverated Meems. "Took two lines to get it all in."

      "I think," crooned Cal Steele, "we shall have to conduct a surgical operation on that name and get it down to homely Western proportions. He may stay with us a while, and I doubt if Sundown could clamp its jaws around the original." He closed his eyes a moment, smiling faintly. "Yes, indeed. The inevitable contraction would be—Jenny's Nighty."

      The

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