The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox. Ernest Haycox

rights of the Constitution and the sanctity of property." Dave Denver nodded and swept the assembled men gravely. They were not talking much; they were sitting rather stiffly upright, jaws set and arms folded. This was the attitude of people who already had settled their minds and arrived at conclusions. Denver knew that no matter what argument developed and no matter what minority opposition rose, the Association would come to but one decision. That thought caused him to frown stubbornly. It was a part of his lonely, rebellious nature to despise mass action. He hated the manner in which the big cattlemen had so cannily and insistently pressed their will on the rank and file, had brought pressure to bear upon the smaller owners, had circulated rumors and hair- raising tales about outlawry until the whole region, from Sky Peak to the Rim and from Ysabel Flats to the Mogul Hills was astir with fear and excitement. His dominant individualism detested all this, and he stared unfavorably at Colonel Fear Langdell as the latter rose on the stage and lifted a rather imperious hand.

      "This being a special meeting of the Association," said Langdell in a cold clipped voice, "I suggest we dispense with roll call and minutes."

      The motion was put and passed. Al Niland moved restlessly and grunted. He had crossed swords with Langdell, also a lawyer, in court many times, and he had little love for the man. Langdell, involved in all kinds of land deals and commercial enterprises, never failed to represent the close conservatism of the county and seldom let an opportunity pass to call Niland a firebrand. Standing on the stage, stiff and spare and confident, Langdell turned his sharp, shrewd face around the hall to build up an expectant silence. Into this silence he placed his words like sharp javelins.

      "Perhaps as presiding officer I ought not assume the right of expressing the purpose of this meeting. But I feel we are all conscious that the sense of the meeting is to come immediately to one question and settle it for once and all. And I shall take the liberty of saying that question is—what are we going to do about the damnable and increasingly arrogant banditry of the crooked elements that infest Yellow Hill County? For two years we have sat still and let outlawry grow under the false sentiment that every man is entitled to his fling before settlin' down. I say false sentiment because those kind of men never settle down. Property is property whether fixed in a building or moving on hoof. The owner's right is absolute and never should be violated. What is the record for the past two years? Four men shot down, approximately a thousand head of stock lost, banditry organized, and every trail and stage road in the county made unsafe for peaceable riders. There have been three stage hold-ups and one driver murdered because he had the guts to resist, and I say we ought to build a monument to that kind of a fellow. Instead of that, what do we do? We catch a few isolated rustlers, a sentimental jury tries them and lets them out to rustle again. Well, what are we going to do about it?"

      "He forgot the Constitution," whispered Niland humorously. Cal Steele slumped in his seat with closed eyes and a faint boredom on his face. Fleabite Wilgus, enormously wealthy operator of the Gate ranch, was on his feet and talking in a whining voice few could hear. Threadbare and dirty, he appeared to worse advantage than the most shiftless rider around Sundown. One of his phrases reached through the room.

      "I'm a kindly man, as everybody knows. But if I had my way I'd give no shrift to a caught rustler, and I wouldn't waste the time of bringin' him to jail. That's me."

      Steve Steers leaned indignantly forward and muttered. "Kindly, is he? Say, I worked on his spread a week and I wouldn't repeat for all the money on God's footstool. Actually, he counted out the sugar for the table and fired one cook for cookin' three slices extra bacon."

      "My boy," said Niland sardonically, "you don't understand the humble duty of a wealthy man toward his wealth. It's a sacred trust."

      Leverage was up and wasting no words. Everybody liked Leverage and listened carefully. "When I was twenty years younger in this country we didn't have any law, and we did have a pack of trouble makers. There was just one way of gettin' at the solution, which was rope and gun. I'm frank to say I didn't much like it, for some fairly good men got strung up with the bad ones, and I was mighty glad to see the legal way come to Yellow Hill. I still prefer the legal way—when it works. But it don't seem to be workin' very good now, and it hasn't for some time. I cast no reflections on judges or law officers, but I'm frank to say there always seems to be one man on a jury who'll hang it and I've got my own private opinions as to how that occurs. So, since influences outside the law get around justice, my belief is that influences outside the law must bring justice back. In case that ain't plain enough, I mean vigilantes!"

      There was a sharp and instant applause. Somebody yelled, "And hangin' on the spot of capture!"

      Leverage looked thoughtful. "I suppose so. I dislike takin' life thataway. But one or two heavy doses 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