Bob Hampton of Placer - Page 142/205

Totally exhausted, the two men dropped their heavy burden on the earth.

Mason swore as the blood began dripping again from his wound, which had

been torn open afresh in his efforts to bear Hampton to safety. Just

below them a mounted trooper caught sight of them and came forward. He

failed to recognize his officer in the begrimed person before him,

until called to attention by the voice of command.

"Sims, if there is any water in your canteen hand it over. Good; here,

Marshal, use this. Now, Sims, note what I say carefully, and don't

waste a minute. Tell the first sergeant to send a file of men up here

with some sort of litter, on the run. Then you ride to the Herndon

house--the yellow house where the roads fork, you remember,--and tell

Miss Naida Gillis (don't forget the name) that Mr. Hampton has been

seriously wounded, and we are taking him to the hotel. Can you

remember that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then off with you, and don't spare the horse."

He was gone instantly, and Brant began bathing the pallid, upturned

face.

"You'd better lie down, Marshal," he commanded. "You're pretty weak

from loss of blood, and I can do all there is to be done until those

fellows get here."

In fifteen minutes they appeared, and five minutes later they were

toiling slowly down to the valley, Brant walking beside his still

unconscious rival. Squads of troopers were scattered along the base of

the hill, and grouped in front of the hotel. Here and there down the

street, but especially about the steps of the Occidental, were gathered

the discomfited vigilantes, busily discussing the affair, and cursing

the watchful, silent guard. As these caught sight of the little party

approaching, there were shouts of derision, which swelled into triumph

when they perceived Hampton's apparently lifeless form, and Mason

leaning in weakness on the arm of a trooper. The sight and sound

angered Brant.

"Carry Hampton to his room and summon medical attendance at once," he

ordered. "I have a word to say to those fellows."

Seeing Mr. Wynkoop on the hotel porch, Brant said to him: "Miss Spencer

informed me that you saw a man leap from the back window of the

Occidental. Is that true?"

The missionary nodded.

"Good; then come along with me. I intend breaking the back of this

lynching business right here and now."

He strode directly across the street to the steps of the Occidental,

his clothing scarcely more than smouldering rags. The crowd stared at

him sullenly; then suddenly a reaction came, and the American spirit of

fair play, the frontier appreciation of bulldog courage, burst forth

into a confused murmur, that became half a cheer. Brant did not mince

his words.