Endicott took a step forward, and as he faced the Texan, his eyes flashed.  “Have I got anything to say!” he sneered.  “Would you have anything to say if a bunch of half-drunken fools decided to take the law into their own hands and hang you for defending a woman against the brutal attack of a fiend?” He paused and wrenched to free his hands but the rope held firm.  “It was a wise precaution you took when you ordered my hands tied—­a precaution that fits in well with this whole damned cowardly proceeding.  And now you ask me if I have anything to say!” He glanced into the faces of the cowboys who seemed to be enjoying the situation hugely.

“I’ve got this to say—­to you, and to your whole bunch of grinning hyenas:  If you expect me to do any begging or whimpering, you are in for a big disappointment.  There is one request I am going to make—­and that you won’t grant.  Just untie my hands for ten minutes and stand up to me bare-fisted.  I want one chance before I go, to fight you, or any of you, or all of you!  Or, if you are afraid to fight that way, give me a pistol—­I never fired one until tonight—­and let me shoot it out with you.  Surely men who swagger around with pistols in their belts, and pride themselves on the use of them, ought not to be afraid to take a chance against a man who has never but once fired one!” There was an awkward pause and the pilgrim laughed harshly:  “There isn’t an ounce of sporting blood among you!  You hunt in packs like the wolves you are—­twenty to one—­and that one with a rope around his neck and his hands tied!”

“The odds is a little against you,” drawled the Texan.  “Where might you hail from?”

“From a place where they breed men—­not curs.”

“Ain’t you afraid to die?”

“Just order your hounds to jerk on that rope and I’ll show you whether or not I am afraid to die.  But let me tell you this, you damned murderer!  If any harm comes to that girl—­to Miss Marcum—­may the curse of God follow every last one of you till you are damned in a fiery hell!  You will kill me now, but you won’t be rid of me.  I’ll haunt you every one to your graves.  I will follow you night and day till your brains snap and you go howling to hell like maniacs.”

Several of the cowboys shuddered and turned away.  Very deliberately the Texan rolled a cigarette.

“There is a box in my coat pocket, will you hand me one?  Or is it against the rules to smoke?” Without a word the Texan complied, and as he held a match to the cigarette he stared straight into the man’s eyes:  “You’ve started out good,” he remarked gravely.  “I’m just wonderin’ if you can play your string out.”  With which enigmatical remark he turned to the cowboys:  “The drinks are on me, boys.  Jerk off that rope, an’ go back to town!  An’ remember, this lynchin’ come off as per schedule.”

Alone in the cottonwood grove, with little patches of moonlight filtering through onto the new-sprung grass, the two men faced each other.  Without a word the cowboy freed the prisoner’s hands.