“I propose that the boy take command of the Vigilantes of Custer--that we swear to follow whar he leads--that we stand by him through thick and thin, and let him hang when he wants to. That’s the ticket that Maverick puts into the box. Boys, I want Cut-throat cleaned out. When the Mining Commission comes hyar to report on our wealth, I want ’em to ride through that grand old canyon and never feel any o’ them infernal strings around their silken necks. Thar’s Cut-throat, boys, the glory of Colorado--it’s a real canyon of the gods, and I say, put the boy at the head of the Vigilantes of Custer, and change its name to Paradise Gap, or something else that don’t suggest wiping out!” The men with a wild shout of approval on their lips could hardly wait until Maverick Joe concluded, but when he clinched the sentence by a mighty sweep of his arm, a cheer rose that fairly shook the building. “He will not reject the proposition.” For a moment the boy leader’s keen eyes swept the score of bronzed faces before him. Then he stepped forward. “To saddle!” he said, in a voice of command. “The Thugs of Cut-throat are desperate as starving wolves. Let every man remember this. They may not be death with their strings in every instance, but with the rifle and the revolver they never miss. So, avengers of Colorado, I grant you five minutes for good-byes to wives and sweethearts.” “I don’t think thar’s a chap hyar who owns any such property!” cried Maverick Joe; “least-wise, thar’r’ only sixty women in Custer, an’ they b’long to luckier fellars. No kissing when we go to battle, captain.” With wild eyes, flashing with triumph, Jack Drivewell sat once more on his horse, his haggard face turned toward Cut-throat. He did not look like a sane man; there was the unmistakable make-up of the lunatic about him. He sat there statue-like and stern until a sound startled him, and made his eyes flash. Quick as a flash of lightning he drew his revolvers and leaned forward. But the next instant he started back and hugged the canyon wall. In that position he sat and held his breath while Captain Harry and his Vigilantes rode past entirely unconscious of his presence. “The boy and Maverick together?” he repeated twenty times. “What does it mean? Ah, if I thought they war huntin’ the big bonanza, I’d hev asserted my right to the whole claim.” The Vigilantes moved on, their hoof-beats did not rouse the echoes of the canyon; but Old Jack still occupied his halting-place. CHAPTER VII. All through the day which came after the night that witnessed the surprise of Myra, the waif, by Tom Terror and his Thugs, six Wolves watched with the fatal cord in their hands for the return of the boy lyncher.