Emerson's Wife and Other Western Stories

  EMERSON'S WIFE AND OTHER WESTERN STORIES

  by

  FLORENCE FINCH KELLY

  Author of "With Hoops of Steel," "The Delafield Affair," Etc.

  With Illustrations in Color by Stanley L. Wood

  [Frontispiece: "Want my guns?" shouted Nick derisively. "Then come andtake 'em!"]

  ChicagoA. C. McClurg & Co.1911CopyrightA. C. McClurg & Co.1911Published September, 1911Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England

  CONTENTS

  EMERSON'S WIFE

  COLONEL KATE'S _Protegee_

  THE KID OF APACHE TEJU

  A BLAZE ON PARD HUFF

  HOW COLONEL KATE WON HER SPURS

  HOLLYHOCKS

  THE RISE, FALL, AND REDEMPTION OF JOHNSON SIDES

  A PIECE OF WRECKAGE

  THE STORY OF A CHINEE KID

  OUT OF SYMPATHY

  AN OLD ROMAN OF MARIPOSA

  OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES

  POSEY

  A CASE OF THE INNER IMPERATIVE

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  "Want my guns?" shouted Nick derisively. "Then come and take 'em!" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

  Wemple dug his spurs into its sweating side and the beast sprang forward at a faster gallop

  Out on the plain we saw the Kid yelling like a wild man, with Dynamite at his highest speed, chasing a jackrabbit

  "I'd hate to have to spile your hide, but I'll do it if you don't get out o' this trail"

  EMERSON'S WIFE

  AND OTHER WESTERN STORIES

  EMERSON'S WIFE

  Nick Ellhorn awoke and looked around the room with curiosity andinterest, but without surprise. He had no recollection of havingentered it the night before, and he was lying across the bed fullyclothed. But he had long ago ceased to feel surprise over a matter ofthat sort. His next movement was to reach for his revolver, and hegave a grunt of satisfaction on finding that it hung, as usual, fromhis cartridge belt. He was aware of a deep, insistent thirst, and ashe sat up on the edge of the bed he announced aloud, in a tone ofconviction, "I sure need a cocktail!"

  Glancing out of the window, he saw a little plaza, fresh in the morningsunlight with its greening grass and budding trees, and beyond it thepink walls and portalled front of a long adobe building. He noddedapprovingly.

  "I reckon I pulled my freight from Albuquerque all right. And I had agood load too," he reflected with a chuckle. "And I reckon I surebunched myself all right into Santa Fe; for if this ain't the PlazaHotel, I 'm drunker 'n a feller has any right to be who 's been totalabstainin' ever since last night. But I 've sure got to have acocktail now, if it busts a gallus!"

  He stared wistfully at the door; but drunken lethargy was still uponhim, and his disinclination to move was stronger than his thirst. Hiseyes, roving along the wall, fell upon the electric call button.Stretching a sinewy arm to its full length he made dumb show ofpressing it, as he said, "One push, one cocktail; two pushes, twococktails!" Then he shook his head despairingly. "Too far, can'treach it," he muttered. But his face brightened as his handaccidentally touched his revolver. Out it flashed, and there was notremor in the long brown hand that held it in position. Bang! Bang!Bang! went the gun, three shots in quick succession, and then threemore. "Six pushes, six cocktails!" he announced, triumphantly.

  The button had been driven into the wall, and several holes hoveredclose upon its wreck. A clatter of hurrying feet on the stairway andthe din of excited voices told him that his summons had at leastattracted attention. "Push button's a sure handy thing!" he exclaimedaloud as he fell back on the bed, laughing drunkenly.

  The footsteps halted outside and the voices sunk to whispers.Presently Ellhorn, gazing expectantly at the door, saw a pair ofapprehensive eyes peering through the transom. At sight of the face hewaved his hand, which still grasped the gun, and called out, "Say, you,I want six cocktails!" The face quickly dodged downward and the feetand the whispering voices moved farther away. Then came the sound of arapid stride down the hall and a deep voice bellowed, "Nick, let me in!"

  Nick called out "Tommy Tuttle!" and in walked a big bulk of a man, sixfeet and more tall, with shoulders broad and burly and legs like treetrunks. Ellhorn turned toward him a beaming face and broke into astring of oaths. But his profanity was cordial and joyous. It bloomedwith glad welcome and was fragrant with good fellowship and brotherlylove.

  "Nick, you 're drunk," said Tuttle reprovingly.

  "You 're away off, Tom! I was yesterday, but I 've been teetotallin'ever since I came into this room last night, and the whole Arizonadesert ain't in it with my throat this mornin'! I want six cocktails!"

  "No, you don't," the other interrupted decisively. "You-all can havesome coffee," and he stepped back to the door and gave the order.

  Ellhorn sat up and looked with indignant surprise at his friend. "TomTuttle--" he began.

  "Shut up!" Tuttle interrupted. "Come and soak your head."

  Ellhorn submitted to the head-soaking without protest, but drank hiscoffee with grumblings that it was not coffee, but cocktails, that hewanted.

  "Nick, ain't you-all ashamed of yourself?" Tuttle asked severely. Butit was anxiety rather than reproof that was evident in his large, roundface and blue eyes. His fair skin was tanned and burned to a brightred, and against its blazing color glowed softly a short, tawnymustache.

  "No, Tommy, not yet," Nick replied cheerfully. "It's too soon. It'slikely I will be to-morrow, or mebbe even this afternoon. But not now.You-all ought to be more reasonable."

  "To think you 'd pile in here like this, when I 'm in a hole and needyou bad," Tuttle went on in a grieved tone.

  The fogs had begun to clear out of Ellhorn's head, and he looked upwith quick concern. "What's up, Tom?"

  "The Dysert gang 's broke loose again, and Marshal Black 's in SanFrancisco, and Sheriff Williamson 's gone to Chicago. I 've got toride herd on 'em all by myself."

  "What have they done?"

  "Old man Paxton was found dead by his front gate yesterday morning. He'd been killed by a knife-thrower, and a boss one at that--cut rightacross his jugular. I went straight for Felipe Vigil, and last night Igot a clue from him, and he promised to tell me more to-day. But thismorning he was found dead under the long bridge with his tongue cutout. That's enough for 'em; not another Greaser will dare open hismouth now. I wired you yesterday at Plumas to come as quick as youcould."

  "Then what you gruntin' about, Tom? I left Plumas before your wire gotthere, and how could I be any quicker 'n that?"

  "I wish Emerson was here. I 'd like to have his judgment about thisbusiness. Emerson 's always got sure good judgment."

  "Send for him, then," was Nick's prompt rejoinder.

  Tuttle looked at him with surprise and disapproval. "Nick, are youdrunker than you look? You-all know he 's just got back from hiswedding trip."

  "But he 's back, all right, ain't he! Neither one of us has ever gotinto a hole yet that Emerson did n't come a-runnin', and fixed forwhatever might happen. And he's never needed us that we did n't getthere as quick as we could. You-all don't reckon, Tom, that EmersonMead's liver 's turned white just because he 's got a wife!"

  Tom Tuttle fidgeted his big bulk and cleared his throat. Words did notcome so easily to him as deeds, but Ellhorn's way of putting it madeexplanation necessary. "I don't mean it that way, Tom. Once, lastyear, down in Plumas, when Emerson would n't let us shoot into thatcrowd that wanted to hang him, I wondered for just a second if he wasafraid, and it made me plumb sick. But I saw right away that it wasjust Emerson's judgment that there ought n't to be any sh
ootin' rightthen, and he was plumb right about it. No, Tom, I sure reckon thereain't a drop of blood in Emerson's veins that would n't be ready for afight any minute, if 't was his judgment that there ought to be afight, even if he has got married. But we-all must remember that he 'sgot a wife now, and can't cut out from his family and go rushin' roundthe country like a steer on the prod every time you get drunk and raisehell, or every time I need help. We 'll have to pull together afterthis, Tom, and leave Emerson out. It would be too much like stackin'the cards against Mrs. Emerson if we didn't."

  As Tuttle ended he saw a gleam in the other's eyes that caused him toadd with emphasis, "And I 'm not goin' to call him up here, and don'tyou do it, either!"

  Nick got up, shook himself, and winked at the hole in the wall wherehad been the electric button. He was a handsome man, as tall asTuttle, but more slenderly built, with clean-cut features, dancingblack eyes, and a black mustache that swept in an upward curve over histanned cheek. His friend scrutinized him anxiously as he slidcartridges into the empty chambers of his revolver.

  "Sure you 're sober, Nick?"

  Ellhorn laughed. "How the devil can I tell? I can walk straight andsee straight and shoot straight; and if that ain't sober enough totackle any four-spot Greaser, I might just as well get drunk again!"

  "Well, I reckon you 're sober enough to jump into this job with me now;and if you stay sober, it's all right. But if I catch you drinkin'another drop till we get through with this business, I 'll run you backinto this room and sit on your belly till you 're ready to hollerquits!"

  It was a dangerous solidarity of crime and mutual protection againstwhich the two deputy marshals started out alone. The Dysert gang hadbeen organized originally as a secret society to further the politicalambitions of men who were not overscrupulous as to instruments ormethods. But gradually it had drifted into a means of wreaking privaterevenge and compelling money tribute. Those of its early members whowere of the law abiding sort had left it long before, and itsmembership had dwindled to a handful of Mexicans of the recklesslycriminal sort. They were credited, in the general belief, with thefts,assaults, and murders; but so closely had they held together, so potentwas their influence with men in public station, and so general was thefear of the bloody revenges they did not hesitate to take, that not oneof them had yet been convicted of crime.

  Faustin Dysert, who had organized the society and was still its head,combined in himself the worst tendencies of both Mexicans andAmericans, his mother having been of one race and his father of theother, and both of the sort that reflect no credit upon theiroffspring. But he owned the house in which he lived and two or threeother adobes which he rented, and was therefore lifted above thenecessity of labor and held in much regard by his fellow Mexicans. Thecombination of that influence and the favor of the political boss ofhis party, to whom he had been of use, had made him chief of police ofSanta Fe and had kept him in that office for several years. And he hadbeen careful to recruit his force from the membership of his society.

  Tuttle knew that he could not count on any open help or sympathy fromthe public, for no one would dare to invite thus frankly the disfavorof the gang. And he knew, too, that he could expect to get no moreinformation from leaky members of the society or their friends, sincethat swift punishment had been meted out to the wagging tongue ofFelipe Vigil. He was well aware also that his chief, the United StatesMarshal, had not been zealous in the pursuit of Dysert's criminals, andthat Black's friend, Congressman Dellmey Baxter, was known to haveunder his protection several members of the society. Therefore, if hebungled the job, he was likely to lose his official head; and if hewere not swift and sure in his movements against the gang, his physicalhead would not be worth the lead that would undoubtedly come crashinginto it from behind, before the end of the week.

  "The thing for us to do, Tommy," advised Ellhorn, "is to take in allthe gang we can get hold of. We 'll herd 'em all into jail first, andget the evidence afterwards. There 'll be some show to get it then,and there ain't now. We 'll load up with warrants, and arrest everykiote that's thought to be a member of the gang; and we 'll start inwith Faustin Dysert himself!"

  Tuttle looked perplexed. He had in his veins a strain of German blood,which showed in his frank, sincere, blonde countenance and in hisdirect and unimaginative habit of mind. But Ellhorn supplemented hissolidity and straightforwardness with an audacity of initiative and adisregard of consequences that told of Celtic ancestry as plainly asdid the suggestion of a brogue that in moments of excitement touchedhis soft Southern speech.

  "Marshal Black would be dead agin goin' at it that way," said Tuttledoubtfully.

  "Of course he would! But he ain't here, and we 'll run this round-upto suit ourselves; and if we don't bunch more bad steers than was evergot together in this town before, I 'll pull my freight for hellwithout takin' another drink!"

  "Mebbe you 're right," said Tuttle slowly, "and I think likely thatwould be Emerson's judgment too. If he hadn't got married we 'd be allright. Us three could go up agin the whole lot of 'em and win out inthree shakes!"

  "Then let's send for him, and see if he 'll come!"

  But Tuttle shook his head. "No," he said positively, "that would n'tbe a square deal for Mrs. Emerson, and we won't do it. We 'll stack upalone against this business, Nick. We 'll put on all the guns we 'vegot and keep together. We might get Willoughby Simmons--he 's deputysheriff now; but he 's got no judgment, and he 's likely to get rattledand shoot wild if things get excitin'. We 'll get the warrants andstart out right away, for we 've got to keep the thing quiet and nab'em before they find out we 're on the warpath. You-all remember you're sure goin' to keep sober!"

  "Well," said Nick with a laugh, "I 'll be sober enough to stack up withany measly kiote that's pirootin' around this town!"

  Tuttle went for the warrants, and Ellhorn said he would get somebreakfast. But first he waited until his friend was out of sight andthen paid a visit to the bar-room. Next he went to the telegraphoffice. The message that he sent was addressed to Emerson Mead, LasPlumas, New Mexico, and it read:

  "Tommy and me are up against the Dysert gang alone, and I 'm drunk.Nick."

  He came out of the telegraph office smiling joyously and humming underhis breath the air of "Bonnie Dundee." "I did n't ask him to come," hesaid to himself, "and if he wants to now, that's his affair. Well, Ireckon he ain't any more likely to have daylight let through him nowthan he was before he got married; and nobody's gun has made holes inhim yet!"

  It was early afternoon when the two friends started out on theirround-up of bad men. To attract as little notice as possible they tooka closed hack and drove rapidly toward the Mexican quarter. Nick'smanner showed such recklessness and high spirits that Tuttle regardedhim with anxiety and began to wonder if it would not be wiser to carryout his threat of the morning before attempting anything else. But hecaught sight of two Mexicans coming toward them, one handsome and wellbuilt and the other slouching and ill-favored.

  "There come two of 'em now! Liberate Herrera and Pablo Gonzalez!" heexclaimed, with sudden concentration of interest and attention."Liberate is a boss knife-thrower, and I think likely he 's the onethat did the business for old man Paxton. Look out for 'im, Nick!"

  The carriage came abreast of the two men and Tuttle jumped out, withEllhorn close behind him. But quick as they were, Herrera, thehandsome one of the two, understood what was happening and leaped toone side, a long knife flashing from his sleeve, before Tuttle's handcould descend upon him. The other was slower and Ellhorn had him bythe arm before he could thrust his hand into his pocket for hisrevolver. Herrera's knife slid into position against his wrist andTuttle's revolver clicked. The Mexican looked dauntlessly into itsblack muzzle, but saw that his companion was submitting, and that bothwere covered by the guns of the officers.

  "It's all right, Senor Tuttle," he said coolly. "You 've got the bestof me. I give up."

  They drove back to the adobe jail; and
while Tuttle was turning hisprisoners into the custody of Willoughby Simmons, the deputy sheriff,Ellhorn slipped out, crossed the street, and went into a saloon. Themen already there had watched the arrival of the hack and the twoprisoners at the jail, and two of them, when they saw Nick coming,hurried into the back room, leaving the door open.

  "What's up, Nick?" the proprietor asked as he poured the whiskeyEllhorn had ordered.

  "Tommy and me," answered Nick jauntily, pushing his glass across thebar to be filled a second time. "We 're on top now, and I sure reckonwe 're goin' to stay there!"

  "After the Dysert gang?"

  "You bet! Hot and heavy! We'll have 'em all bunched in the jail bynight!"

  Ellhorn stood with his back toward the middle door; and the two men inthe rear room cautiously made their way into the front again, revolversin their hands. Nick turned and found himself facing Faustin Dysertand Hippolito Chavez, a policeman and member of Dysert's society. Histwo revolvers flashed out, the triggers clicked, and he stood waitingfor the next move of the others, for he saw at once that they did notintend to shoot at that moment.

  "You 'll have to give me your guns, Nick," said Dysert. "You 're drunkand disorderly, and I 'm going to arrest you."

  "Want my guns?" shouted Nick derisively. "Then come and take 'em!"

  "I 'm going to take them, and I 'll give you two minutes in which todecide whether or not you 'll give them up peaceably."

  "You will, will you! Let me tell you, it's yourself that's goin' to betaken, dead or alive, and not for any common 'drunk and disorderly,'either! You-all are goin' to swing, you are! Whoo-oo-ee-ee!"

  Across the street, Tuttle had come out of the jail and was looking forhis friend. Ellhorn's peculiar yell came bellowing from the saloon,and he knew that trouble of some sort was brewing. Dysert and Chavezsaw him leaping across the street, and rushed into the back room andslammed the door as he entered at the front. With a glance Tuttle tookin the group of men with tense, excited faces, gathered at one side ofthe room, Ellhorn, with a revolver in each hand, at the other, and thesaloon-keeper emerging from underneath the bar.

  "Nick, you 're drinkin' again! Put up your guns!" Tom exclaimedangrily.

  "After 'em, Tommy! They went in there! Whoo-oo-ee-ee!" yelled Nick,rushing toward the middle door. It gave before his weight and hedashed in. Tuttle followed, not knowing what was happening, yet surethat his friend was daring some danger. But the room was empty.Through the back door Dysert and his companion had gained a corral,into which opened several other houses, and in some one of these haddisappeared and found concealment.

  "Huh!" grunted Nick. "Tom, if you'd only had sense enough to stay awaya minute longer I 'd have got both of 'em myself!"

  They started forth on another raid, but the members of the Dysert gangseemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. Neither in thestreets, the plaza, their homes, nor their usual haunts could theofficers of the law find one of those for whom they had warrants.

  "It's what I was afraid of," said Tuttle. "The hint got out too quickfor us, and now they 're all hiding."

  "They've holed up somewhere, all in a bunch, and we 've got to smoke'em out. Whoo-oo-ee-ee!"

  The several whiskies with which Nick had succeeded in eluding hisfriend's vigilance were beginning to have manifest effect, and Tuttledecided that, whatever became of the Dysert gang, there was only onething to do with Nick Ellhorn, and that would have to be done at once.He drove back to the Plaza Hotel, took Nick to his room, locked thedoor, and put the key in his pocket.

  "Now, Nick, you-all don't get out of here till you 're plumbsober--sober enough to be sorry!"

  Nick protested, but Tuttle threw him down on the bed and thendeliberately sat down on his chest. Ellhorn swore valiantly andthreatened many and dire revenges. But Tom sat still, in unheedingsilence, and after a little Nick shut his mouth with a snap and gazedsullenly at the ceiling. He labored for breath for a while, and atlast broke the silence by asking impatiently: "Say, Tom, how long yougoin' to make an easy chair of me?"

  "You know, without askin'!"

  Nick relapsed into silence again until his face grew purple and hisbreath came in gasps. "Tom," he began, and there was no backbone leftin his voice, "what do you-all want me to promise?"

  "Not to drink another drop of whiskey, beer, wine, brandy, or anythingintoxicatin', till we get the Dysert gang corralled--or they get us."

  "All right, Tommy. I promise."

  Tattle got up and looked at his friend with an expression of mingledapology and triumph on his big, red face. "I 'm sorry I had to do it.Nick. You-all know that. But I had to, and you know that, too. Wecan't do another thing now till to-morrow, and you 're sober again. Idon't see," he went on grumblingly, "as long as they were goin' to killold man Paxton anyway, why they did n't do it before Emerson gotmarried!"

  Nick had been soaking his head in the wash-bowl and he wheeled aroundwith the water streaming over his face. "Tom, I sure reckon Emersonwould come if you 'd send for him!"

  "Mebbe he would, Nick, but I ain't goin' to do it. For he sure had n'tought to go and get himself killed now, just on our account. But if hewas here," Tommy went on wistfully, "we 'd wipe up the ground with thatDysert gang too quick!"

  Nick rolled over on the bed, sleep heavy on his eyelids. "Well, I gaveEmerson the chance this mornin' to let us know whether he 's goin' tokeep on bein' one of us, or whether he 's goin' to bunch alone withMrs. Emerson after this!"

  Tuttle gazed in open-mouthed and wide-eyed astonishment."What--what--do you mean, Nick? You did n't wire him to come?"

  "No, I did n't! I told him you and me was up against the Dysertgang--" Nick's voice trailed off into a sleepy murmur--"alone, andI--was drunk--and likely to get--disorderly."

  "You measly, ornery--" Tuttle began. But he saw that Ellhorn wasalready asleep and he would not abuse his friend unless Nick could hearwhat he said. So he shut his mouth and considered the situation. Heknew well enough that in the days before Emerson's marriage any suchmessage would have brought Mead to their aid as fast as steam couldcarry him. But now, if he did not come--well, what Nick had said wastrue, and they would know that the end of the old close friendship hadcome. But, for the young wife's sake, if he should come, he and Nickmust not let him do anything foolhardy and they must try to keep himout of danger.

  Tuttle waited up for the midnight train, on which, if Mead heededNick's telegram, he would be likely to arrive. In the meantime, he didsome spying out of the land and learned that Dysert and some of hisfollowers had hidden themselves, with arms, ammunition, and provisions,in an empty adobe house belonging to the head of the band. The deputymarshal knew this meant that the criminals would resist to the last,and that any attempt to take them would be as perilous an adventure ashe and his friends had ever faced. If Emerson came and anythinghappened to him--and it was very unlikely, if they carried the thingthrough, that any one of them would come out of it without at leastserious injury--then he and Ellhorn would feel that they had been thecause of the young wife's bereavement. And yet, with Mead's help, theymight succeed. And success in this enterprise would be the biggest,the crowning achievement in all their experience as officers of the law.

  As midnight approached, Tuttle scarcely knew whether he more hoped ordreaded that Mead would come. He had faced the muzzle of loaded gunswith less trepidation and anxiety than he felt as he stepped out on thesidewalk when he heard the rattle of the omnibus. A tall figure, bigand broad-shouldered, swung down from the vehicle.

  "Emerson--Emerson--" Tuttle stammered, his voice shaking and dying inhis throat into something very like a sob. Then he gripped Mead's handand said casually, "How 's Mrs. Emerson?"

  Mead replied merely, "She's well"; but Tom caught an unwontedintonation of tenderness in his voice and saw his face soften and glowfor an instant before he went on anxiously, "What's up?--and where 'sNick?"

  Tuttle wavered a little the next morning in his purpose of attackingthe Dys
ert retreat. He took Ellhorn aside and asked his opinion aboutletting the matter rest until the return of Marshal Black and SheriffWilliamson.

  Nick was quite sober again and looked back over his misdeeds of the daybefore with a jaunty smile and a penitent shake of the head. "Sure,Tom," he said, and the Irish roll in his voice showed that hiscontrition was sincere enough to move him deeply, "sure and I was ameasly, beastly, ornery kiote to go back on you like that, and you 'dhave served me right if you 'd set on me twice as long as you did!"

  But against Tuttle's suggestion of postponing the conflict he presenteda surprised and combative front. "What you-all thinkin' of, Tom? Why,we 've got 'em holed up now, and all that's to do is to smoke 'em out!"

  "It's Emerson I 'm thinkin' of--and Mrs. Emerson. He--he wrote her aletter this mornin', and put it in his pocket, and asked me if anythinghappened to him to see that she got it. Nick, I--I don't like to thinkabout that! If we put this thing off, he 'll go home, and then we-allcan fight it through without him, mebbe. Nick, you was a sure kiote tosend for him yesterday."

  "Yes, I sure was," said Nick with sorrowful conviction. Then he added,with an air of cheerful finality, "Well, I would n't 'a' done it if Ihad n't been drunk! But you 're right, Tommy. It ain't the squaredeal to Mrs. Emerson for us to take him into this business. It 'll bea fight to a finish, for one side or the other, and it's just as likelyto be us as them."

  At that moment Mead came up, saying briskly, "Well, boys, had n't webetter be starting out?"

  Like his two friends, Emerson Mead was Texan born and bred; but a NewEngland strain in his blood, with its potent strength and sanity, hadgiven him such poise and force of character as had made him the leaderof the three through their long and intimate friendship and strenuouslife.

  "I 've just been sayin' to Nick," Tom replied, his eyes evading thoseof his friend, "that mebbe we 'd better let this thing slide till Blackand Williamson get back."

  "Well, Tom, this is your shindy, and whatever you say goes. But I surethink that if you really want to get this Dysert gang, the thing to dois to trot in and get 'em, right now. You know yourself that Blackain't any too warm about it, and Williamson is so under Dell Baxter'sthumb that he 's more likely to trip you up, if he can, than he is tohelp. You-all won't get another chance as good as this!"

  Ellhorn's martial ardor, and his buoyant belief that Mead's marriagehad in no wise lessened his immunity from bullets, obscured for themoment his anxiety about Mrs. Mead. He slapped his thigh, exclaiming,"Them's my sentiments, boys! Come on! Let's pull our freight!"

  Tuttle's manner still showed some reluctance, but he said no more, andthe three Texans, each of them six feet three or more in his stockings,broad-shouldered, and straight as an arrow, swung into the street.

  They took with them Willoughby Simmons, the deputy sheriff for whosejudgment Tom had so little esteem. Tuttle sent him to guard the rearof the house, a small, detached adobe, in which Dysert and an unknownnumber of his followers had fortified themselves. Some twenty feet infront and toward one corner of the house grew a large old apple tree,its leaves and pink-nosed buds just beginning to make themselvesmanifest, and underneath it were some piles of wood. It was the onlyposition that offered cover. Tuttle asked Mead to station himselfthere, where he could command one end of the house, a view toward therear, and the whole front. Ellhorn he placed similarly at the otherfront corner. His own position he took midway between the two, facingthe door and two small windows that blinked beneath the narrow _portal_.

  Mead saw that he was the only one for whom protection was possible, andexclaimed, "Say, Tom, this ain't fair!"

  But Tuttle paid no attention to his protest, and began to call loudly:

  "Dysert! Faustin Dysert! We know you 're in there, you and your men,and if you 'll give yourselves up you won't get hurt. But we 're goin'to take you, dead or alive! If there 's anybody in there that don'tbelong in your gang, send 'em out, and we 'll let 'em go awaypeaceable!"

  There was no reply from the house. Evidently those within meant toplay a waiting game until they could get the officers of the law undertheir hands, or perhaps take them unawares. Tuttle glanced at Mead andsaw that he was standing apart from the tree and the piles of wood.Tom thought of the letter in his friend's pocket and remembered thelook that had crossed his face at the mention of his wife. Great beadsof sweat broke out on Tom's forehead. With his lips set and his eyeson those squinting front windows he walked across to his friend andsaid in a low tone:

  "I reckon, Emerson, we 'd better just stand here and guard the placetill they see they 'll starve to death if they don't give up."

  Mead turned upon him a look of supreme astonishment. "It's your fight,Tom," he answered coolly, "and if you-all think that's the best way offightin' it, I 'll stand by and help as long as I 'm needed. But I didn't come up here expectin' to take part in any cold-feet show!"

  Tuttle wiped his face vigorously and did not answer. "I think there'sonly one thing to do," Mead went on, "and that is to rush 'em and make'em show their hand!"

  Tuttle shook his head. "No, no," he exclaimed hurriedly, "thatwouldn't do at all, Emerson!"

  Mead left him and, keeping the front of the house in the tail of hiseye, hurried across the yard to Ellhorn. "Nick," he demanded, "what'sthe matter with Tommy? Does he want to take these Greasers or not?"

  "Well, Emerson," said Nick hesitatingly, "I sure reckon the truth isthat he's afraid you 'll get hurt!"

  The ruddy tan of Mead's face deepened to purple, and a yellow lightblazed in his brown eyes. He strode back to where Tuttle had resumedhis post, his fist shot out, and Tom went staggering backward. "Soyou-all think I 'm a coward, do you?" he shouted. Then, wheeling, witha revolver in each hand, he rushed toward the front door. Nick sawwhat he purposed to do, and dashed after him with a wild "Whoo-oo-ee!"

  Tuttle was left without support. For a moment he was so dazed byMead's blow that he stared about him bewilderedly. The men inside thehouse were quick to take advantage of so unexpected a situation. Thewindows flashed fire and Tom heard the thud of bullets against theground at his feet. One bit his cheek. With loud and angry oaths hedropped to one knee, rifle in hand, and sent bullets and insultshurtling together through the crashing windows. Springing to his feethe ran a few steps forward, dropped to his knee again, and with bulletspattering all around him emptied the magazine of his rifle.

  Mead and Ellhorn were trying to batter down the door, but it wasstrongly built and had not yielded to their shoulders. Throwing downhis empty rifle, Tuttle ran into the _portal_, thrust Ellhorn to oneside as if he had been a boy, and lunged against the door with all hisox-like weight. Mead threw himself against it at the same instant, andit cracked, split, and flew into splinters.

  The three big Texans, each with a revolver in either hand, surgedthrough the opening. The Mexicans met them in mid-floor, and the roomwas full of the whirr of flying bullets, the thud of bullets againstthe walls, the spat of bullets upon human flesh. The officers rushedforward, their guns blazing streams of fire, and Dysert and his menbacked toward the corner. Mead emptied both of his revolvers and,pressing the leader closely, raised one of them to batter him over thehead. Dysert threw up his hands, exclaiming, "We give up!" and thebattle was over.

  On the floor were the bodies of four Mexicans, either dead or badlywounded. Dysert and three of his followers were still alive, althougheach had been hurt. Tuttle, besides the gash in his cheek, had abullet in his left arm, and Ellhorn a wound in his thigh. Mead's hatand clothing had been pierced, but his body was untouched.

  They sent for physicians to attend to the wounded Mexicans and, havinghandcuffed their prisoners, hurried them to the jail. As Simmons ledthe men from the sheriff's office and the three friends were leftalone, Mead turned to Tuttle.

  "Tom," he said, "I 'm sure sorry I struck you just now. I was so mad Ihardly knew what I was doing. You 'd been acting queer, and when Ifound it was because you thought I was afrai
d, I just boiled over. Ihad no business to do it, Tom, and I 'm sorry."

  The red of Tom's face went a shade deeper, and he fidgeted uneasily."No, Emerson, you 're wrong," he protested. "I did n't think you wasafraid. You-all ought to know better than that. But--well--the truthis, Emerson, I could n't help thinkin' what hard lines it would be forMrs. Emerson if anything--should happen to you."

  The tears came into Mead's eyes, and he turned away as Tuttle went on:"I told Nick not to send for you, but the darned kiote went and done itwithout me knowing it!"

  "No, I didn't," Nick exclaimed. "I just told him we was in a hole andI was drunk! And, anyway, it's a good thing I did; for now we 've gotthe Dyserts, and Emerson did n't get a scratch!"

  "Boys," said Mead, and his voice was thick in his throat, "you 're thebest friends any fellow ever had; but you-all don't know what a brickMarguerite is! She 'd rather die than come between us, I know shewould! She would n't have any more use for me if she thought I 'd kepta whole skin by going back on you! It's the truth, boys, and don't youforget it!"