Whispering Smith
He turned to where two of the cowboys had dragged Karg to the ground and three others had their old companion Seagrue in hand. While two held huge revolvers within six inches of his head, the third was adjusting a rope-knot under his ear.
Whispering Smith became interested. “Hold on!” said he mildly, “what is loose? What are you going to do?”
“We’re going to hang these fellows,” answered Stormy, with a volley of hair-raising imprecations.
“Oh, no! Just put them on horses under guard.”
“That’s what we’re going to do,” exclaimed the foreman. “Only we’re going to run ’em over to those cottonwoods and drive the horses out from under ’em. Stand still, you tow-headed cow-thief!” he cried, slipping the noose up tight on George Seagrue’s neck.
“See here,” returned Whispering Smith, showing some annoyance, “you may be joking, but I am not. Either do as I tell you or release those men.”
“Well, I guess we are not joking very much. You heard me, didn’t you?” demanded Stormy angrily. “We are going to string these damned critters up right here in the draw on the first tree.”
Whispering Smith drew a pocket-knife and walked to Flat Nose, slit the rope around his neck,
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