d nor a head o' stock. You're nothing
but a bum! You can't get trusted for a pound of tobacco. Nice man to
lead a mob--"

"Shut him up, Bill," shouted one fellow.

"Cal's right," called another.

"Don't let 'em fool ye, Bill; we come fer a redskin, and we'll have him
or burn the town."

Calvin had a revolver in each hand, and on his face was a look that
meant war.

Curtis called to Lawson. "Take the women in, quick!" He feared shooting
among the leaders of the mob. "Don't shoot, Calvin. Keep the peace."

With tears of impotent rage filling her eyes, Elsie retreated towards
the office under Lawson's care. Curtis stepped to the side of the
leader. "Silence your gang," he said.

Yarpe raised his bellowing voice. "Keep quiet, there! I'll settle this
thing in a minute."

"Keep back!" commanded the sheriff.

The crowd fell back a little, with Calvin crowding them hard, revolver
in hand. "No more funny business with me," he said, and death blazed
from his eyes. "Get back!"

Quiet having been restored, the sheriff, Curtis, and Yarpe were revealed
in animated argument. Curtis was talking against time--every moment was
precious.

"If you give in, your chances for re-election ain't worth a
leatherette," Yarpe said to the sheriff.

"You crazy fool! You wouldn't charge that hill?" asked the sheriff.

"That's what I would, and that's what the boys come for."

"But what good would it do?"

"It would learn these red devils a lesson they wouldn't forget, and it
would make you an' me the most popular men in the county. If you don't
do it, you're dead as the hinges of hell."

"If you charge that hill, some of you will stay there," put in Curtis.

Yarpe turned and roared: "Boys, the sheriff has weakened. Will you
follow me?"

"We will!" shouted the reckless majority.

At this precise moment, while looking over the sheriff's head towards
the pinon-spotted hill to the west, Curtis caught the gleam of something
white bobbing down the hill. It disappeared, but came into sight lower
down, a white globe based in a splash of blue. It was a white helmet,
topping the uniform of a cavalry officer. A sudden emotion seized Curtis
by the throat--his heart warmed, swelled big in his bosom. Oh, the good
old color! Now he could see the gauntleted gloves, the broad shoulders,
the easy seat of blessed old Jack Maynard as he ambled peacefully across
the flat.

"Look there!" he cried, turning to the group inside the gate, his finger