CHAPTER TWELVE“Say, who are you?” drawled Hogue Kinsey, as Wade, leading his horse, halted under a wide-spreading cottonwood on the outskirts of Pine Mound. “I shore want to shake your hand—an’ thank you heaps—but I’m not stuck on steppin’ under this tree.”
“Big shady tree. What’s the matter with it?” replied Wade, finding a seat and removing his sombrero.
“Nothin’ ’cept there’s been a couple of hombres hanged heah.”
“Hanged!” ejaculated Wade, his head coming up erect.
“Shore. Makes a fellow feel creepy. I don’t mind bein’ shot. Been winged a few times. But chokin’ to death—kickin’ at the end of a rope—in the air! I wouldn’t like thet.”
“Neither would I, Hogue,” laughed Wade, remembering the years when he swore he would never dangle at the end of a rope. “All you Arizonans shy of a no
