They 'lected you marshal of this
yere camp, but it war n't expected you'd ever take no sides 'long with
murderers. Thet's too stiff fer us to abide by. So come on down,
Buck, an' leave us to attend to the cuss."
"If you mean Hampton, he's my prisoner. Will you promise to let me
take him down to Cheyenne fer trial?"
"Wal, I reckon not, old man. We kin give him a trial well 'nough right
here in Glencaid," roared another voice from out the group, which was
apparently growing restless over the delay. "But we ain't inclined to
do you no harm onless ye ram in too far. So come on down, Buck, throw
up yer cards; we've got all the aces, an' ye can't bluff this whole
darn camp."
Mason spat into the dump contemptuously, his hands thrust into his
pockets. "You 're a fine-lookin' lot o' law-abidin' citizens, you are!
Blamed if you ain't. Why, I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers fer the
whole kit and caboodle of ye, you low-down, sneakin' parcel o' thieves.
Ye say it wus yer votes whut made me marshal o' this camp. Well, I
reckon they did, an' I reckon likewise I know 'bout whut my duty under
the law is, an' I'm a-goin' to do it.
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