"The light's at Indian Head Rock." "Let's go." They swept across the desert, thundering up a dust cloud that hung in the night behind them. Rode until sight of a terrible thing sent a chill down Sam Taber's spine; sight of a man hanging from a rope against the glare of a car's headlights; a silhouette of savagery that killed the last faint hope in Sam Taber's breast; the last hope for a crippled son. Sam fought to control himself as he and his men rode silently, gently, into the lighted circle. He struggled there in the saddle with the red rage that tried to flare up from the stormy heart of him; the uncontrollable anger he had fought all his life and thought he had conquered. The mob was now looking at its handiwork in silence, each member wishing himself somewhere else. The roaring in Sam Taber's ears drowned this silence as he reined up and one of his men rode close to the turning body. The man's hand went out. He said, "Too late, boss. We're too late." * * * * * Taber sat like a dead man for a full minute. Then his rage broke its bounds and flooded out through his eyes and his throat across the desert. "Take them!" he bellowed. "Take every last rotten mother's son of them! Lash the swine down! Cut them to pieces!" He stood up in his stirrups and bent forward and lashed out with his quirt. Without question his riders went into action. Quirts rose and fell, slashed and cut. Screams and bellows and curses arose on the dark desert as the shadowy avengers moved into their bloody work. The mob broke to run bellowing and screaming in all directions. There was no leadership now, no courage to rally them for a stand against their tormentors. The only thought was to get away from the slashing quirts; to run off into the desert and hide like squealing rats in the blackness of a safe hole. To find sanctuary. But just in the middle of the terrible savagery, a cry went up from one of the riders. "Hey. Over there! The boss! He's down!" The riders turned from their work and converged upon the indicated spot where Sam Taber hung limp in his saddle and was just ready to slip from his mount's back. They spied him just in time. Two of the riders cut skillfully in and caught the lolling body. "What's wrong, boss? One of 'em get you?" Taber's reply was tortured, throaty. "Heart. Heart's gone--bad. Can't--breathe. Done--all done." "We've got to get him to town--quick!" So, as quickly as it had come the avenging force moved back into a group and thundered away. Cecil Bates had got to his car during the melee and rammed it in panic through the crowd and off into the desert. The mob itself had melted like tallow in a blast furnace. And now there was nothing--no one from the rising moon to see except the still body of Joe hanging from the tree beside Indian Head Rock.... * * * * *