There came from the crowd the sound of a sad, high-keyed voice, drawling:

"That's a nice vest Jim's got on, but it ain't hardly the feathers fitten

for an ostrich, is it?"

The editor's gravity gave way; he broke into a ringing laugh and turned

again to the shell-men. "Give up the boy's money. Hurry."

"Step down here and git it," said the one who had spoken.

There was a turbulent motion in the crowd, and a cry arose, "Run 'em out!

Ride 'em on a rail! Tar and feathers! Run 'em out o' town!"

"I wouldn't dilly-dally long if I were you," said Harkless, and his advice

seemed good to the shell-men. A roll of bills, which he counted and turned

over to the elder Bowlder, was sullenly placed in his hand. The fellow who

had not yet spoken clutched the journalist's sleeve with his dirty hand.

"We hain't done wit' youse," he said, hoarsely. "Don't belief it, not fer

a minute, see?"

The Town Marshal opened his eyes briskly, and placing a hand on each of

the gamblers, said: "I hereby do arrest your said persons, .and declare

you my prisoners." The cry rose again, louder: "Run 'em out! String 'em

up! Hang them! Hang them!" and a forward rush was made.

"This way, Jim. Be quick," said Harkless, quietly, bending down and

jerking one of the gamblers half-way up the steps. "Get through the hall

to the other side and then run them to the lock-up. No one will stop you

that way. Watts and I will hold this door." Bardlock hustled his prisoners

through the doorway, and the crowd pushed up the steps, while Harkless

struggled to keep the vestibule clear until Watts got the double doors

closed. "Stand back, here!" he cried; "it's all over. Don't be foolish.

The law is good enough for us. Stand back, will you!"

He was laughing a little, shoving them back with open hand and elbow, when

a small, compact group of men suddenly dashed up the steps together, and a

heavy stick swung out over their heads. A straw hat with a gay ribbon

sailed through the air. The journalist's long arms went out swiftly from

his body in several directions, the hands not open, but clenched and hard.

The next instant he and Mr. Watts stood alone on the steps, and a man with

a bleeding, blaspheming mouth dropped his stick and tried to lose himself

in the crowd. Mr. Watts was returning something he had not used to his

hip-pocket.




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