regularity. Another was rolling a cigarette. There was nothing of
dramatic effect. Not a man had raised his voice. But Neill knew there
was no appeal. He had come to the end of the passage through a
horrible mistake. He raged in bitter resentment against his fate,
against these men who stood so quietly about him ready to execute it,
most of all against the girl who had let him sacrifice himself by
concealing the vital fact that her brother had murdered a guard to
effect his escape. Fool that he had been, he had stumbled into a trap,
and she had let him do it without a word of warning. Wild, chaotic
thoughts crowded his brain furiously.

But the voice with which he addressed them was singularly even and
colorless.

"I am a stranger to this country. I was born in Tennessee, brought up
in the Panhandle. I'm an irrigation engineer by profession. This is my
vacation. I'm headed now for the Mal Pais mines. Friends of mine are
interested in a property there with me and I have been sent to look
the ground over and make a report. I never heard of Kinney till
to-day. You've got the wrong man, gentlemen."

"We'll risk it," laughed one brutally. "Bring that riata, Tom."

Neill did not struggle or cry out frantically. He stood motionless
while they adjusted the rope round his bronzed throat. They had judged
him for a villain; they should at least know him a man. So he stood
there straight and lithe, wide-shouldered and lean-flanked, a man in a
thousand. Not a twitch of the well-packed muscles, not a quiver of the
eyelash nor a swelling of the throat betrayed any fear. His cool eyes
were quiet and steady.