These men can prove that they spent the night at Barstow's
cabin. When I learned the truth, I came straight back. Buckeye Pete, you
throw up your hands! You're wanted for the murder of Spotty Collins."
Mignon tore the noose from Anthony's neck, laughing and crying in true
French abandon.
"Anthony, you're snared in another kind of noose," laughed the sheriff.
"I know you're need in' your arms, but that rip-snortin' little jack
won't let me get near enough to cut your bonds."
"By Salsifer!" he said, later on, "I'll have to swear that fighting jack
in as a deputy sheriff, and set him to watchin' road agents confined in
the jail. Well, goodnight, all. Pete's locked up safe and sound."
An hour later a sober band of grim spectres returned to the jail,
overpowered the guard, and, for the second time that night, took out
grisly fruit to hang on the lynching tree. There were no pine knots and
no attempts at conversation till the leader asked: "Buckeye Pete, have
you anything to say before you join your Maker?"
"Ain't no use prayin' for yourself," spoke up another voice.
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