"Your life is forfeit, Buck Weaver," Sanderson said, without delay.
"Made up your mind, have you?"
"Your own riders made it up for us when they murdered poor Jesus Menendez."
"A bad break, that--and me a prisoner here. Some of the boys had been out on the range a week. I reckon they didn't know I was the rat in your trap."
"So much the worse for you."
"Looks like," Weaver nodded. Then he added, almost carelessly: "I expect there wouldn't be any use mentioning the law to you? It's here to punish the man that shot Menendez."
"Not a bit of use. You own the sheriff and half the juries in this county. Besides, we've got the man right here that is responsible for the killing of poor Jesus."
"Oh! If you look at it that way, of course----"
"That's the way to look at it I don't blame your riders any more than I blame the guns they fired. You did that killing."
"Even though I was locked up on your ranch, more than twenty miles away."
"That makes no difference."
"Seems to me it makes some," suggested Keller, speaking for the first time. "His riders may have acted contrary to orders. He surely did not give any specific orders in this case."
"His actions for months past have been orders enough," said Cuffs.
"You'd better investigate before you take action," Larrabie urged.
"We've done all the investigating we're going to do. This man has set himself up like a czar. I'm not going through the list of it all, but he has more than reached the limit months ago. He's passed it now. He's got to die, by gum," the old sheepman said, his eyes like frozen stars.
"We all have to do that. Just when does my time come?" Weaver asked.
"Now," cried Sanderson, with a bitter oath.
Phil swallowed hard. He had grown white beneath the tan. The thing they were about to do seemed awful to him.
"Good God! You're not going to murder him, are you?" protested Larrabie.
"He murdered poor Jesus Menendez, didn't he?"
"You mean you're going to shoot him down in cold blood?"
"What's the matter with hanging?" Slim asked brutally.
"No," spoke up Keller quickly.
The old man nodded agreement. "No--they didn't hang Menendez."
"Your sheep herder died--if he died at all, and we have no proof of it--with a gun in his hands," Larrabie said.
"That's right," admitted Phil quickly. "That's right. We got to give him a chance."
"What sort of a chance would you like to give him?" Sanderson asked of the boy.
"Let him fight for his life. Give him a gun, and me one. We'll settle this for good and all."