“Sir,” he said to Riley in a rapid, trembling voice, “you look to me like an honest man.  Give me—­give me time to speak.”

“Make it pronto,” said Riley Sinclair coldly.

The four waited, with their hands settled high up on the rope, ready for the tug which would swing Gaspar halfway to his Maker.

“We’re kind of pushed for time, ourselves,” said Riley.  “So hurry it on, Gaspar.”

Bill Sandersen was a cold man, but such unbelievable heartlessness chilled him.  Into his mind rushed a temptation suddenly to denounce the real slayer before them all.  He checked that temptation.  In the first place it would be impossible to convince five men who had already made up their minds, who had already acquitted Sinclair of the guilt.  In the second place, if he succeeded in convincing them, there would be an instant gunplay, and the first man to come under Sinclair’s fire, he knew well enough, would be himself.  He drew a long breath and waited.

“Good friends, gentlemen,” Gaspar was saying, “I don’t even know what you accuse me of.  Kill a man?  Why should I wish to kill a man?  You know I’m not a fighter.  Gentlemen—­”

“Jig,” cut in Buck Mason, “you was as good as seen to murder.  You’re going to hang.  If you got anything to say make a confession.”

Gaspar attempted to throw himself on his knees, but his weight struck against the rope.  He staggered back to his feet, struggling for breath.

“For mercy’s sake—­” began Gaspar.

“Cut it short, boys!” cried Buck Mason.  “Up with him!”

The four men at the rope reached a little higher and settled their grips.  In another moment Gaspar would dangle in the air.  Now Riley Sinclair made his decision.  The agonized eyes of the condemned man, wide with animal terror, were fixed on his face.  Sinclair raised his hand.

“Wait!”

The arms, growing tense for the jerk, relaxed.

“How long is this going to be dragged out?” asked the judge in disgust.  “The worst lynching I ever see, that’s what I call it!  They ain’t no justice in it—­it’s just plain torture.”  “Partner,” declared Riley Sinclair, “I’m sure glad to see that you got a good appetite for a killing.  But it’s just come home to me that in spite of everything, this here gent might be innocent.  And if he is, heaven help our souls.  We’re done for!”

“Bless you for that!” exclaimed Gaspar.

“Shut up!” said Sinclair.  “No matter what you done, you deserve hangin’ for being yaller.  But concerning this here matter, gents, it looks to me like it’d be a pretty good idea to have a fair and square trial for Gaspar.”

“Trial?” asked Buck Mason.  “Don’t we all know what trials end up with?  Law ain’t no good, except to give lawyers a living.”

“Never was a truer thing said,” declared Sinclair.  “All I mean is, that you and me and the rest of us run a trial for ourselves.  Let’s get in the evidence and hear the witness and make out the case.  If we decide they ain’t enough agin’ Gaspar to hang him, then let him go.  If we decide to stretch him up, we’ll feel a pile better about it and nearer to the truth.”