Some people just need killin’, mate, and you sure are one of them.

Farnsworth and Foster, Arizona, c.1903 “Nope, don’t see one for miles.”

“One what?” The man was irritated, especially with Arvel.

“A tree. Can’t have a proper hanging without a tree, mate.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “Bleedin’ dime novels. And, don’t call me mate.” He laughed more nervously. “I’ve read of your so-called frontier justice. You’ll not mistreat me. You’re just trying to scare me. Well, I am not bloody-well scared.  You are officers, not vigilantes. You can’t touch me. You’re obliged to follow the due course of law. You’ve got to bring me in. You’ve no proof I killed anyone. There’s no call for this. You can’t hang me for any of the things I’ve done.”

“We aren’t hanging you for what you have done, mate.” Dick spoke as he pulled a pigging string from his saddle. “We’re snuffin’ you out so that you can’t do anything to anyone ever again. Some people just need killin’, mate, and you sure are one of them.”

Dick called to Arvel, pointing off to a distant spot. “That outcrop’ll work, Arvel.”

“Looks good to me.” He smiled at the killer. “Guess we can have a hanging after all. “Come along, Lad, we’re gonna show you how to have at least an improper hangin’ without a tree.” The Rangers mounted up, they made James walk ahead of them to the ledge of rocks a distance away. Arvel rode up beside the man and looked down at him. “This is what’s called the final walk…like it?” The Mule Tamer