Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 121: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE WAY OF minutes the rumbling ceased, the lights vanished, and again silence engulfed the cavalcade. Cameron did not talk. He was in no mood for conversation. He knew Gibson had misjudged him, but he was not going to argue with the man. Therefore, silent as the rest, he rode forward, Gibson guiding the horse, They rode directly toward the railroad track. Their progress was leisurely, but steady, and after a while they reached a level beside the rails. Gibson halted the horse, slipped out of the saddle. ‘Get down, Cameron,” he ordered. Cameron obeyed. The section was flat, desolate. Cameron judged they were at least ten miles from Ransome, for he could see the lights of the town twinkling remotely between two hills. He felt he was not to be killed, for the men could have committed that crime with- out taking the trouble to ride here. That they had brought him to the railroad tracks was significant of their intention to put him aboard a train. But as he glanced around and saw the telegraph poles, with their cross beams not more than twenty feet above the floor of the flat, he was doubtful. The poles had a grisly appearance, reminding him of gibbets. The other men got out of their saddles, and swarmed around him. In the moonlight he could see their faces as they watched him. They were all coldly hostile, although they said nothing to him. Gibson, he perceived, was the leader. Whatever talking was to be done would be done by him. The men would obey him. Two men stayed with the horses, the others surrounded Cameron. “Cameron,” said Gibson. “ There’s a train due here pretty soon. Westbound. We’re goin’ to stop her; put you aboard. We don’t care where you go, as long as you don’t come back to Ransome. “T’ve got to tell you that you’ve had a pretty narrow squeeze. Some of the boys was for swingin’ you. But I figured that was pretty stiff punishment for what you’ve done. We ain’t goin’ into that. But we’re givin’ you a choice. - THE BUFFALO. 111 “You can get aboard the train when we stop her, or you can stay here an’ swing from one of these poles. I’m puttin’ her straight up to you.” Cameron stood rigid, gazing at the faces of the men who stood near him. Grim, relentless purpose was reflected in the un- wavering eyes that stared back at him. He could expect no mercy. He would ask no mercy. These men were prejudiced, determined. They loved Ballantine and they meant to avenge the man. ‘They were loyal to Ballantine, they were right in the measure of their ability to determine what was right. They scorned all laws, believing in their fitness to do their own judging. They had given him a choice, and he would have to accept it. But he could not control the resentment that filled him, the contempt he felt that a dozen of them should arbitrarily judge and condemn him. He looked last at Gibson. ““T suppose I'll have to board the train,” he agreed. ‘‘ You seem to be running things.” He continued to watch Gibson, who would not meet his gaze, but stood, Staring downward. “How soon will the train be here, Gib- son?”’ he asked. Gibson looked up. “ Listen!” he said. The faint blast of a locomotive whistle reached the ears of the men. “ That’s her,” Gibson remarked. ‘ She’s passed the freight, at Ransome. She’ll be here inside of fifteen minutes.”’ One of the men was lighting a lantern. Cameron was reaching into a pocket while the man worked with the lantern, and when _ the globe was snapped down Cameron spoke to him. ‘“‘ Just come over here for a minute with that light,” he said. “I want to write a note to my engineer. Is that all right, Gibson?” he asked. : ** Sure. Write as much as you like. But I’m readin’ her when you get through. If it ain’t the right stuff it won’t be deliv- ered.” “Fair enough,”” Cameron rejoined. He wrote with a pencil, while the man CORNICLOOKS (C@ = y