THE SECOND OFFENSE
BILL HOWLAND from the six-by-six office of the F. S. and S. Stage Company and the to where his Concord stood. He up and, after the harness, his seat, up the lines and yelled. There was a and a rumble, and Bill the on two to the of dogs, to of and pain as the driver of from their with his sixteen “blacksnake.” Twice each week Bill his Concord around the same on the same two and of from dogs with the same whip. He would have been if the supply of new dogs gave out, for no dogs were to close to be the second time; once was enough, and those which had the of 46Bill’s leather were to across the and create the necessary to the new forward. The local is reported as saying: “Dogs may come and dogs may go, but Bill goes on forever,” which saying pleased Bill greatly.
As he the on the seat the came up and him, his a-twinkle with humor.
“Well, Sheriff, how’s the boy?” asked Bill, who talk all day on anything and two days on nothing without fatigue.
“All right, Bill, thank you,” the replied. “I you are able to take something more than liquid nourishment,” he added.
“Oh, you trust me for that, Sheriff. When my out I’ll be to plant. I see your ear is some smaller. Blamed how they do sometimes,” the driver, his collar.
The what that action meant and to the of the conversation.
“New wheel?” he asked, what he to be old.
“Nope, painted, that’s all,” the driver replied, 47grinning. “But she look new, don’t she? You see, Dick put in two new yesterday, and when I saw ’em I says, says I, ‘Dick, that new wheel don’t look good thataway,’ says I. ‘It’ll look like a limp, them new ’round all alone like,’ says I. So we it, but we didn’t have time to paint the others, but they won’t make much difference, anyhow. Funny how a little paint will things, now ain’t it? Why, I can when––-”
“Much nowadays?” the calmly.
“Nope. Folks out here ain’t a-helpin’ Uncle Sam much. Postmaster says he only ten this week. What he wants, as I told him, is women. Then everybody’ll be sendin’ and presents and things. Now, I what I’m talking about, because––-”
“The Apaches are out,” the sheriff, hopefully.
“Yes, I that you had a with them. But they won’t so north as this. No, siree, they won’t. They too much, Apaches do. Ain’t they cusses, though? Now, there’s old Geronimo–been the for years. The 48cavalry goes out for him regular, and thinks he’s caught, but he ain’t. When he’s he’s home his pipe and his wives, which are numerous, they say. Now, I’ve got a for him, Sheriff––”
“Hey, you,” came from the office. “Do you that train is going to tie up and wait for you, hey? Do you think you are so d––d that they won’t out unless you’re on hand? Why in h–l don’t you and started?”
“Oh, you up!” Bill, up to his seat. “Who’s this, anyhow!” he under his breath. Then he took up the and them, after which he looked at Shields, a of amusement.
“Bill Howland ain’t none a-scared a of a hunch. Not on your life! I’ve the high C of progress too many times to be at rumors. Show me the feather-dusters in paint, and then I’ll take some stock in raids. You up a on me Sheriff, make a little easy money. Back Bill Howland to be right here in seventy-two hours, right 49side up and smiling, and you’ll win. You just you’ll––”
“Well, you won’t here in a year unless you starts, you pest! For God’s a-going and give the a rest!” came from the office, by a as if a chair had to its four legs. A tall, man in the and his at the cloud of which rolled the street, savagely. Bill Howland had started on his eighty-mile to Sagetown.
“Damnedest on two laigs,” the clerk. “He’ll drive me some day with his jabber, jabber. Why do you waste time with him? Tell him to close his and go to h–l. Beat him over the head, anything to him up!”
Shields smiled: “Oh, he can’t help it. He don’t do any harm.”
The his in and started to return to his chair, and then stopped.
“I you some out soon,” he suggested.
“Yes. Sisters and a friend,” Shields shortly.
50“Ain’t you a little about ’em come out here while the Apaches are out?”
“Not very much–I’ll be on hand when they arrive,” the him.
“How soon are they to land?”
“Next if nothing them.”
“Jim Hawes is comin’ out next trip,” the clerk.
“Good,” the sheriff, to go. “Every gun counts, and Jim is a good man.”
“Say,” the agent was lonesome, “I at the Oasis last night that The Orphant was out near the Cross Bar-8 yesterday. He ought to shot, d––n him! But that’s a big contract, I reckon. They say he can shoot like the very devil.”
“They’re right, he can,” Shields replied. “Everybody that.”
“Charley to be in a hurry,” the agent, looking the at a cowboy, a friend of the sheriff, who was at a gallop. The looked and Charley his arm. As he came he shouted:
“The Orphan killed Jimmy Ford this on Twenty Mile Trail! His got away by 51shootin’ The Orphan’s and taking to the through Little Arroyo. But he’s shot, just the same, ’though not bad. The of the Cross Bar-8 are going out for him; they’ve been out, but they can’t his trail.”
“Hell!” the sheriff, toward his corral. “Wait!” he over his as he the corner. In less than five minutes he was again, and on his best horse, and the cowboy, the at a in the direction of Twenty Mile Trail.
As they left the town and through the leading to the Limping Water, through which the stage lay, Charley to speak again:
“Jimmy and Pete Carson were taking a in the of the and playin’ old sledge, when they looked up and saw The Orphan looking at them. They’re easy-going, and so they asked him to take a hand. He said he would, and got off his and sat with them. Jimmy started a new deal, but The Orphan to old and wanted poker, at the same time a of in of him. Jimmy looked at Pete, who nodded, and put his 52wealth in of him. Well, they played along for a while, and The Orphan to have great luck. When he had five it was more than Jimmy stand, him being and hasty. He saw his new Cheyenne saddle, what he was going to buy, away all the time, and he ‘Cheat!’ for his gun, what was for him to do.
“The Orphan from his quick as a wink, and Jimmy just as Pete drew. The Orphan on him and ordered him to his gun, which same Pete did, being at the at Jimmy’s passing. Then The Orphan told him to take his dirty money and his life and go to his mamma. Pete didn’t stop none to argue, but and away. But the wasn’t satisfied at having a whole skin after a run-in with The Orphan, and when he got off about four hundred yards and right on the of Little Arroyo, where he in one jump, he up and let drive, killing The Orphan’s horse. Pete got two in his he out of sight, and he that his had left his gun he had ’em, too. Pete says he how in h–l The Orphan shoot 53twice so quick, when his gun’s a Sharp’s single shot.”
Shields was pleased with the knowledge that it was not a plain this time, and to if the other in which The Orphan had had not in a measure been justified. Hearsay “Murderer,” but his own personal the term. Did not The Orphan know that Shields was after him, and that the was no man to be taken when he had near the big bowlder? The must be and square, the sheriff, else he would not have looked for those in another, and least of all in an enemy. The had him of to kill and had nothing of it, time and time again his without hesitation. True, The Orphan had him when his hand had for his tobacco; but the would have done the same, the movement was hostile, and he had been in not having paid for his action. The Orphan had taken a when he from the trigger.
Charley continued: “Jimmy’s they’ll have a lynchin’ to square for the Kid. 54They are about it. Jimmy was a whole liked by them, and the is going to give them a week off with no questions asked. They are now.”
The to his companion, his with anger at this threat of when he had plain that such would not for one minute be by him.
“We’ll call on the Cross Bar-8 first, Charley, and out when this is to come off,” he said, toward the northwest. Charley looked at the in the plans, but without comment, that trouble was in store for the he had no use for.
After an hour of fast they up to the of the Cross Bar-8, and Shields, a in a rifle, asked for Sneed, at the same time making a note of the which were going on about him.
The foreman, as if in answer to the sheriff’s words, walked into around the and when he saw who the was.
55“I see that you know all about it, Sheriff,” he began, hastily. “I’ve just told the boys that they can go out for him,” he continued. “They’re now, and will soon be on his trail.”
“Yes?” the sheriff.
“They’ll him if you don’t,” the foreman, who had about as much as a mule.
“I’ll shoot the man who it,” the said, as he a of from his arm.
“What!” Sneed in astonishment. “By God, Sheriff, that’s a d––d hard to make!”
“And I you responsible,” the sheriff, as if to give weight to his words.
The stopped his and up, the sheriff, a on his and anger in his eyes.
“If you’re a-scared, we ain’t, by God!” he cried. “The Orphan has got away too many times already, and here is where he stopped for good! When we through with him he won’t shoot no more friends of ourn, nobody else’s!”
Shields looked him in the eyes: “If you don’t that gun I’ll you, Bucknell,” he 56said pleasantly, and his that he meant what he said.
Sneed and the gun aside; “You d––n fool!” he cried. “You ornery, fool! Get to the house or I’ll make you wish you had that gun! Go on, the h–l out of here you join Jimmy!”
Then the to Shields, that he had much through the of his man.
“Don’t pay any attention to that yearling, Sheriff,” he said earnestly. “He’s only his oats. But we only wanted to him up,” he on the main topic. “We meant to turn him over to you after we’d got him. He’s a blasted, thieving, dog, that’s what he is, and he oughtn’t away this time!”
“You keep out of this, and keep your men out of it, too,” Shields, away. “I what I say. Jimmy started the and got the of it. I’ll The Orphan, or nobody will. As long as I’m of this I’ll take of my job without any parties. Come on, Charley.”
“Deputize some of my boys, Sheriff!” he begged. “Let ’em think they’re doing something. The 57Orphan is a man to go after alone. The boys are so that they’ll him if they have to through after him. Swear them in and let them him lawfully.”
“Yes?” Shields cynically. “And have to shoot them to keep them from him?”
“By God, Sheriff,” Sneed, of his temper, “this is our fight, and we’re going to see it through! We’ll that cur, or no sheriff, and when we do, he’ll rope! And who to stop us will hurt! I ain’t making any threats, Sheriff; only telling plain facts, that’s all.”
“Then I’ll be a wreck,” Shields, still smiling. “For I’ll stop it, if I have to shoot you first, which are also plain facts.”
Sneed’s men had been up while they talked and were their opinions of sheriffs. Sneed close to the peace officer and laughed, his with at his strength.
“Do you see ’em?” he asked, ironically, his men by a of his arm. “Do you think you shoot me?”
The reply was instantaneous. The last word 58had left his he into the cold, of a Colt, and the sheriff’s voice laughed up above him. The as if to stone, not to their foreman’s life by a move, for they did not the sheriff’s methods of arguments, having with him.
“You know me now, Sneed,” Shields as he his Colt into its holster. “I’m the law end of the game and I’ll keep right on it as I d––d while I’m called sheriff, understand?”
Sneed was a man, and he the clean-cut which had the sheriff’s act, and he knew, then, that Shields would keep his word. He and the above him, a not countenance, although it was by the and by the weather of fifty years. The and the thin in that for which the man was famed; yet the was stern, determination.
“You’re nervy, Sheriff,” at length 59the foreman. “The boys are loco, but I’ll try to them.”
“You’ll them, or them,” the sheriff, and to his he said: “Now I’m with you, Charley. So long, Sneed,” he called over his as if there had been no disagreement.
“So long, Sheriff,” the foreman, looking after the pair and free from his astonishment. Then he to his men: “You what he said, and you saw what he did. You keep out of this, or I’ll make you d––d sorry, if he don’t. If The Orphan comes your way, all right and good. But you let his alone, do you hear?”
