to the hotel veranda, Willock was searching
the crowd for a glimpse of the sheriff.

The street was unusually full for that time of night; some topic of
engrossing interest seemed to engage all minds until Willock's figure
was recognized; then, indeed, he held the center of attention. Men
gathered eagerly, curiously, but without the hostility they would have
displayed had not a message regarding Red Feather reached the town.
Brick was still an outlaw, to be sure, but whatever crimes he had
committed were unknown, hence unable to react on the imagination. The
surviving friend of Red Kimball, giving up his efforts against Willock
on the liberation of Bill, had left the country, harmless without his
leader.

Conversation which had been loud and excited, eager calls from street
corners that had punctuated the many-tongued argument and exposition,
dimmed to silence. There was a forward movement of the men, not a rush
but a vibratory swell of the human tide, pushing toward the steps of
the hotel. The two riderless horses danced sidewise--Brick Willock had
jumped upon the unpainted floor of the veranda, and Wilfred had sprung
lightly to his side.

"I'll just keep on my horse," muttered Bill, resting one leg stiffly
over the pommel. "I can't get up as I used to, and I expect to stay
with ye, Brick, to the jail door."

Willock did not turn his shaggy head to answer. He had seen the
sheriff at the other end of the piazza, and he made straight for him,
not even condescending to a grin when the other, mistaking his
intentions, whipped out his revolver.

"Put it up, pard," Brick said gruffly. "When you come to me in the
cove, a few years ago, I give you a warm welcome, but now I ain't
a-coming to you, I'm a-coming to the Law. Where's that there warrant?"

The crowd that had been listening to the sheriff's discourse before the
arrival of the highwayman, scattered at sight of the drawn weapon--all
except Lahoma.

"Brick!" she cried, "oh, Brick, Brick!"

There was something in her voice he could not understand, but he dared
not turn to examine her face; he could not trust himself if he once
looked at her.

"Get out your warrant," he cried savagely, "and get it out quick if you
want ME!" His great breast heaved with the conflict of powerful
emotions.

"I'm sure sorry to see you, old man," Mizzoo declared. "We know Red
Feather done what we was charging up against you. But I guess there's
no other course open to