“I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did. That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward. Until now I never was within half a day's ride of this town. I'm blamed for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to send for Jeff Aiken.” “An' then you set down an' let this old guy throw your own gun on you?” queried the cowboy in amazement. “I guess that's it,” replied Duane. “Well, it's powerful strange, if you're really Buck Duane.” A man elbowed his way into the circle. “It's Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in more'n one place,” he said. “Sibert, you can rely on what I tell you. I don't know if he's locoed or what. But I do know he's the genuine Buck Duane. Any one who'd ever seen him onct would never forget him.” “What do you want to see Aiken for?” asked the cowboy Sibert. “I want to face him, and tell him I never harmed his wife.” “Why?” “Because I'm innocent, that's all.” “Suppose we send for Aiken an' he hears you an' doesn't believe you; what then?” “If he won't believe me--why, then my case's so bad--I'd be better off dead.” A momentary silence was broken by Sibert. “If this isn't a queer deal! Boys, reckon we'd better send for Jeff.” “Somebody went fer him. He'll be comin' soon,” replied a man. Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed out above and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a number of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old, with hard faces, like the men. Some were young and comely, and most of these seemed agitated by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying glances upon Duane as he stood there with that noose round his neck. Women were more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated, seemed fascinated at his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings. Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender woman in white. Duane's wandering glance rested upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to see him hanged! “Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,” called a man, loudly. The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness. Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart build. He had a gun in his hand, and his manner was that of fierce energy. The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle of men. “Hold on, Jeff,” he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He spoke so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken's face. At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken and Sibert were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a pressing of many bodies, hoarse cries and flinging hands--again the insane tumult was about to break out--the demand for an outlaw's blood, the call for a wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas's bloody soil.