The afternoon waned till the sun tipped the high range in the west.
The excitement of the mining populace gradually wore away, and
toward sunset strings of men filed up the road and across the open.
The masked vigilantes disappeared, and presently only a quiet and
curious crowd was left round the grim scaffold and its dark swinging
forms. Joan's one glance showed that the vigilantes had swung
Frenchy's dead body in the noose he would have escaped by treachery.
They had hanged him dead. What a horrible proof of the temper of
these newborn vigilantes! They had left the bandits swinging. What
sight was so appalling as these limp, dark, swaying forms? Dead men
on the ground had a dignity--at least the dignity of death. And
death sometimes had a majesty. But here both life and death had been
robbed and there was only horror. Joan felt that all her life she
would be haunted.
"Joan, we've got to leave Alder Creek," declared Cleve, finally. He
rose to his feet. The words seemed to have given him decision. "At
first I thought every bandit in the gang would run as far as he
could from here. But--you can't tell what these wild men will do.
Gulden, for instance! Common sense ought to make them hide for a
spell. Still, no matter what's what, we must leave. ... Now, how to
go?"
"Let's walk. If we buy horses or wait for the stage we'll have to
see men here--and I'm afraid--"
"But, Joan, there'll be bandits along the road sure. And the trails,
wherever they are, would be less safe."
"Let's travel by night and rest by day."
"That won't do, with so far to go and no pack."
"Then part of the way."
"No. We'd better take the stage for Bannack. If it starts at all
it'll be under armed guard. The only thing is--will it leave soon? ...
Come, Joan, we'll go down into camp."
Dusk had fallen and lights had begun to accentuate the shadows. Joan
kept close beside Jim, down the slope, and into the road. She felt
like a guilty thing and every passing man or low-conversing group
frightened her. Still she could not help but see that no one noticed
her or Jim, and she began to gather courage. Jim also acquired
confidence. The growing darkness seemed a protection. The farther up
the street they passed, the more men they met. Again the saloons
were in full blast. Alder Creek had returned to the free, careless
tenor of its way. A few doors this side of the Last Nugget was the
office of the stage and express company. It was a wide tent with the
front canvas cut out and a shelf-counter across the opening. There
was a dim, yellow lamplight. Half a dozen men lounged in front, and
inside were several more, two of whom appeared to be armed guards.
Jim addressed no one in particular.