pointing like a pistol. His voice rang out joyous as a morning bugle,
and the girls thrilled with joy.

Yarpe looked. "Hell! The cavalry! We're euchred--clean."

Over the hill behind the officer appeared a squadron of gray horse,
marching in single file, winding down the trail like a long serpent,
spotted with blue and buff, the sun sparkling fitfully from their
polished brass and steel. When Curtis turned to the sheriff his face was
pale with excitement for the first time, quivering, exultant. "You'll
have the federal troops to deal with now," he said. "At last we are on
equal terms."

A deep silence fell on the mob. Every ruffian of them seemed suddenly
frozen into immobility, and each sat with head turned and eyes
wide-staring, watching the coming of the blue-shirted horsemen.

As the officer approached he was distinguishable as a powerful,
smooth-faced young man in a captain's uniform. As his eyes rested on
Curtis his plump, red face broke into a broad smile. It was plain that
he was Irish, and not averse to a bit of a shindy.

Riding straight up to the agent, he formally saluted, and in a deep,
dry, military voice, said:

"Colonel Daggett presents his compliments to Captain Curtis and tenders
Squadron B, at your service. Captain Maynard in command."

With equally impersonal decorum Curtis acknowledged the courtesy.

"Captain Curtis returns the compliment, and thanks Captain Maynard for
his prompt and most opportune arrival--Jack, I'm mighty glad to see
you."

Maynard dismounted and they shook hands. "Same to you, old man. What's
all the row?"

A clear, distant, boyish voice cried, "By columns of four into line!"
and the bugle, breaking voice, caused the hair of the agent's head to
stand; turning, he saw the squadron taking form as it crossed the
stream. It required his most heroic effort to keep the tears from his
eyes as his ear heard the dull rattle of scabbards and he watched the
splendid play of the gray horses' legs and broad chests as they came on,
weary but full of spirit yet. There was something inexorable in their
advance. In their order, their clean glitter, their impersonal grace,
was expressed the power of the general government.

Turning to the sheriff, he said: "Sheriff Winters, this warrant is
bogus--forged this morning by some one of your lynching-party; the ink
is hardly dry. I decline to serve it," and he tore it into strips and
flung it on the ground.

"Halt!" cried the oncoming