If you fellers thought ye
'lected a chump, this is the time you git left. This yere man, Bob
Hampton, is my prisoner, an' I'll take him to Cheyenne, if I have ter
brain every tough in Glencaid to do it. Thet's me, gents."
"Oh, come off; you can't run your notions agin the whole blame moral
sentiment of this camp."
"Moral sentiment! I 'm backin' up the law, not moral sentiment, ye
cross-eyed beer-slinger, an' if ye try edgin' up ther another step I
'll plug you with this '45.'"
There was a minute of hesitancy while the men below conferred, the
marshal looking contemptuously down upon them, his revolver gleaming
ominously in the light. Evidently the group hated to go back without
the prisoner.
"Oh, come on, Buck, show a little hoss sense," the leader sang out.
"We 've got every feller in camp along with us, an' there ain't no show
fer the two o' ye to hold out against that sort of an outfit."
Mason smiled and patted the barrel of his Colt.
"Oh, go to blazes! When I want any advice, Jimmie, I'll send fer ye."
Some one fired, the ball digging up the soft earth at the marshal's
feet, and flinging it in a blinding cloud into Hampton's eyes.
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