“Dey’ll tink Byrne an’ his pardner croaked ’em, you simp,” replied Crumb.

Dink scratched his head, and as the possibilities of the scheme filtered into his dull brain a broad grin bared his yellow teeth.

“You’re dere, pal,” he exclaimed, real admiration in his tone.  “But who’s goin’ to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” said Crumb.  “Dere ain’t no chanct of gettin’ in bad for it, so I jest as soon do the job.  Get me a knife, or an ax from de kitchen—­de gat makes too much noise.”

Something awoke Billy Byrne with a start.  Faintly, in the back of his consciousness, the dim suggestion of a loud noise still reverberated.  He sat up and looked about him.

“I wonder what that was?” he mused.  “It sounded like the report of a gun.”

Bridge awoke about the same time, and turned lazily over, raising himself upon an elbow.  He grinned at Billy.

“Good morning,” he said, and then: 

  Says I, “Then let’s be on the float.  You certainly have got my goat;
  You make me hungry in my throat for seeing things that’s new. 
  Out there somewhere we’ll ride the range a-looking for the new and strange;
  My feet are tired and need a change.  Come on!  It’s up to you!”

“Come on, then,” agreed Billy, coming to his feet.

As he rose there came, faintly, but distinct, the unmistakable scream of a frightened woman.  From the direction of the farmhouse it came—­from the farmhouse at which Billy had purchased their breakfast.

Without waiting for a repetition of the cry Billy wheeled and broke into a rapid run in the direction of the little cluster of buildings.  Bridge leaped to his feet and followed him, dropping behind though, for he had not had the road work that Billy recently had been through in his training for the battle in which he had defeated the “white hope” that time in New York when Professor Cassidy had wagered his entire pile upon him, nor in vain.

Dink searched about the summer kitchen for an ax or hatchet; but failing to find either rummaged through a table drawer until he came upon a large carving knife.  This would do the job nicely.  He thumbed the edge as he carried it back into the parlor to Crumb.

The poor woman, lying upon the floor, was quite conscious.  Her eyes were wide and rolling in horror.  She struggled with her bonds, and tried to force the gag from her mouth with her tongue; but her every effort was useless.  She had heard every word that had passed between the two men.  She knew that they would carry out the plan they had formulated and that there was no chance that they would be interrupted in their gruesome work, for her husband had driven over to a farm beyond Holliday, leaving before sunrise, and there was little prospect that he would return before milking time in the evening.  The detectives from Kansas City could not possibly reach the farm until far too late to save her.