“Bring him down into the creek.” They plowed up the loose earth on the steep bank, gained the sage-gray bottom. Where the canyon from Cold Spring joined Birch Creek three gnarly old cottonwoods grew, a trio like the weird sisters. They stood within half a mile of where Mark Steele and Thatcher shot the Bar M Bar cows. Robin remembered those trees. He led the way until his riders were bunched in the leafy shade. Thick, crooked limbs spread from the rough-barked trunks fifteen feet above ground. “Heave a rope over that branch,” Robin pointed. The Texan’s face blanched. For a second or two the J7 men looked startled. “I sure do despise a bushwhacker,” one reckless youth said at last. “I’ll donate my rope in a good cause.” He flung the noosed end deftly over a stout limb. “Lead him under,” Robin spoke again. Connors gave the lead rope to a J7 man, wheeled his horse aside and sat looking thoughtfully at Robin. The J7 man led the horse Thatcher bestrode under the dangling noose. “Put it around his neck. Tighten it up and tie the end to the tree,” Robin ordered. Robin’s young face was hard as iron. He looked at the shrinking Texan and there was no mercy in his eyes. The horse that bore Thatcher was gentle. He stood passive, a living scaffold, such as the old West devised for the speedy execution of malefactors long before Robin Tyler was born. A flick of a rope-end and the beast would leap from under, to leave Thatcher’s spurred heels kicking three feet clear of mother earth. Robin raised his braided quirt. Thatcher’s lips trembled. “For God’s sake, Tyler, take this rope off my neck!” he pleaded. “Give me a chance for my life. I’ll talk.” “What chance did you give Tex Matthews or me?” Robin sneered. “You’re not gagged. Speak out if you want.” “Take away the rope,” Thatcher begged. “I’ll cough it all up, if you won’t hang me here. Shinin’ Mark’s the man you want, not me.” “Say what you want,” Robin answered coldly. “I make no promises. It’s hangin’ or the pen for you, anyway.” “If I hang, I want him to hang with me,” the Texan mumbled. “He got me into this. I’ll take a chance on the penitentiary if you’ll keep me off’n this tree.” “Say your say,” Robin lowered his quirt.