When there ain’t no justice, a man has to . . .

GO IT ALONE!

“Tom,” the girl said, placing a finger on his lips to silence him. “The man that shot my father looked like you, and he was riding your horse. I . . . almost thought it was you, myself.”

“Yeah,” Huxley nodded. “That Dempsey, or whatever his name is, he sure is a smart feller.”

His voice faded away, and he averted his face.

Marcella glanced up the aisle to the connecting door. Coleman had left it open a few inches, but there was no sign of him.

“Tom,” she whispered, “it isn’t over yet.”

He grinned crookedly.

“You notice what they built out in the street?”

“Yes. I saw the gallows.”

“Well, Marcella, I guess we both know what that means."