One of the men, who had been holding the young man's arms, had fallen
back into the crowd when the lariat was thrown over the oak limb.
During the short colloquy just detailed, the attention of the other had
become somewhat distracted. Bennington wrenched himself free, and
struck this man full in the face.
He had never in his well-ordered life hit in anger, but behind this
blow was desperation, and the weight of a young and active body. The
man went down. Bennington seized the lariat with both hands and tried
to wrench it over his head.
The individual who had done all the talking leaped forward toward him,
and dodging a hastily aimed blow, seized him about the waist and threw
him neatly to the ground. Bennington struggled furiously and silently.
The other had great difficulty in holding him down.
"Come here, some of you fellows," he cried, panting and laughing a
little. "Tie his hands, for the love of Heaven."
In another moment the Easterner, his arms securely pinioned, stood as
before. He was breathing hard and the short struggle had heated his
blood through and through. Bunker Hill had waked up. He set his teeth,
resolving that they should not get another word out of him.
The timekeeper raised one hand warningly. Over his shoulder Bennington
dimly saw a tall muscular figure, tense with the expectation of effort,
lean forward to the slack of the lariat. He stared back to the front.
The leader raised his pistol to give the signal. Bennington shut his
eyes. Then ensued a pause and a murmuring of low voices. Bennington
looked, and, to his surprise, perceived Lawton's girl in earnest
expostulation with the leader of the band. As he listened their voices
rose, so he caught snatches of their talk.
"Confound it all!" objected the man in exasperated tones, "you don't
play fair. That wasn't the agreement at all."
"Agreement or no agreement, this thing's gone far enough," she rejoined
sharply. "I've watched the whole performance, and I've been expecting
for the last ten minutes you'd have sense enough to quit."
The voices died to a murmuring. Once the girl stamped her foot, and
once the man spread his hands out in deprecation. The maskers grouped
about in silent enjoyment of the scene. At last the discussion
terminated.
"It's all up, boys," cried the man savagely, tearing off his mask. To
Bennington's vast surprise, the features of Jim Fay were discovered. He
approached and began sullenly to undo the young man's pinioned arms.
The others rolled up their masks and put them in their pockets. They
laughed to each other consumedly. The tall man approached, rubbing his
jaw.
"You hits hard, sonny," said he, "and you don't go down in yore
boots[A] a little bit."