A rift in the fog disclosed a portion of the trestle bridge.

And, hanging from it, with noosed lariats around their necks, were three limp, ghastly figures.
In horror, Whitey clutched Injun's arm, and gasped, "The bandits!" Injun looked stolidly at the horrible sight, as for thousands of years his people had looked on death.

"Uh," he said and pointed toward the water tank.

"Walk marks go that way.

No come back.".