The Yale expositor. (Yale, St. Clair County, Mich.) 1894-current, 1908-01-24

himself recklessly through the crowd.
Halfway down the broad steps Buck
Mason faced him, in shirt sleeves, his
head uncovered, an ugly as" in his
uplifted hand. Just an instant the
eyes of the two men met, neither
doubted the grim purpose of the other.
you've got ter do 1t, Bob" an
nounced the marshall, shortly, dead
er alive"
Hampton never hesitated. I'm sor-
ry l met you. | don't want to get
anybody else mixed up in this fuss.
If you'll promise me a chance for my
life, Buck, I'll throw up my hands.
But l prefer a bullet to a mob"
The little marshal was sandy-haired,
freckle-faced, and all nerve. The
crowd jammed within the Occidental
had already turned and were surging
toward the door. Hampton knew from
long experience what this meant;
these were the quickly infiamed CO.
horts of Judge Lynch-they would act
first, and reflect later. His square
jaws set like a trap.
'All right, Bob" said the marshal.
You're my prisoner, and there'll be
one hell of a fight afore them lads
git We. There's a chance left-leg it
after me-"
Just as the mob surged out of the
Occidental, cursing and struggling,
the two sprang forward and dashed
into the narrow space between the
livery stable and the hotel Moffat
CHANGED to be in the passageway, and
pausing to ask no questions, Mason
promptly landed that gentleman on
the back of his head in pile of dis
carded tin cans, and kicked viciously
at yellow dog which ventured to
snap at them as they swept past. Be-
hind arose a volley of curses, the thud
of feet, an occasional voice roaring
out orders, and sharp spat of re-
volver shots. One bail plugged into
the siding of the hotel, and a second
threw a spit of sand into their lower
ed faces, but neither man glanced
back. They were running for their
lives now, racing for fair chance to
turn at bay and fight, their sole hope
the steep, rugged hill IN their front.
Hampton began to understand the
purpose of his companion, the quick,
unerring instinct which had led him
to select the one suitable spot where
the successful waging of battle
against such odds was possible-the
deserted dump of the Shasta mine.
With every nerve strained to the
uttermost, the two men raced side by
side down the steep slope, ploughed
through the tangled underbrush, and
toiled up the sharp ascent beyond.
At the summit of the ore dump the
two men flung themselves painting
down, for the first time able to realize
what il all meant. They could per-
ceive the figures of their pursuers
among the shadows of the bushes be-
low, but these were not ventur.ng out
into the open-the first mad, needless
rush had evidently ended. There were
some cool heads among the mob lead
ers, and it was highly probable that
negotiations would be tried before
that crowd hurled itself against two
desperate men, armed and entrench-
ed. Both fugitives realized this, and
lay there coolly watchful, their breath
growing more regular, their eyes soft
ening.
"Whut is all this fuss about, any
how?" questioned the marshall, evil
IDENTIFY somewhat aggrieved. II WIS
just eatin dinner when a teller stuck
his head in an yelled ye'd killed
somebody over at the Occidental"
Hampton turned his face gravely
toward him. Buck, l don't know
whether you'll believe me or not, but
| guess you never heard me tell lie,
or knew of my trying to dodge out of
a bad scrape. Besides, haven't any
thing to gain now, for l reckon you're
planning to stay with me, guilty or
not guilty, but l did not kill that fell
low. / don't exactly see how l can
prove 1t, the way il all happened, but
/ give you my word as a man, l did
not kill him"
Mason looked him squarely in the
eyes, his teeth showing behind his
stiff, closely clipped mustache. Then
he deliberately extended his hand, and
gripped Hampton's. "Of course l be,
lieve We. Not that you're any too
blame good, Bob, but you amt the
kind what pleads the baby act. Who
was the feller?"
Red Slavin."
moi" and the hand grip perceptibly
frightened. holy Moses, what ingrati-
tude! Why, the camp ought to get to-
gether and give we a vote of thanks,
and instead, here they are trying their
level best to hang you. Cussedest
sorter thing a mob is, anyhow; goes
like a flock o. sheep after a leader,
an l bet could name the fellers who
are a-runnin' that crowd. How did
the thing happen?"
Both men were intently observing
the ingathering of their scattered pur-
suers, but Hampton answered gravely,
telling his brief story with careful de-
tail, approaching the importance of
reposing full confidence in this quiet,
resourceful companion.