Jeff finally leaped from the saddle and released his horse. It turned
to bolt, but Bud reached its hanging reins and secured it. Then he sat
still, observing the movements of his companion with strained, intent
gaze.
Jeff passed under the great limbs of the tree. He cautiously
approached the first of the hanging bodies. It was hideous. There was
a bandage drawn tightly over the dead eyes, but its folds were
powerless to disguise the rest of the contorted features. The head was
tilted over on one side. Its flesh was ghastly, and deep
discolorations blotched it from the neck up. The body was clad in the
ordinary garb of the prairieman, with the loose waistcoat hanging open
over a discolored cotton shirt, and the nether part of it sheathed in
dirty moleskin trousers. The ankles were lashed securely together, and
the arms firmly pinioned.
For some moments Jeff stared up at the dead man. His blue eyes were
quite unsoftening. There was no real pity in him for the fate of a
cattle thief. He understood only the justice of it from the point of
view of the cattle grower.
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