the deputies, advancing a little
from out the group, cried out:

"Keep back there! Keep back there, you!"

"Go to hell, will you?" shouted Harran on the instant. "You're on my
land."

"Oh, come back here, Harran," called Osterman. "That ain't going to do
any good."

"There--listen," suddenly exclaimed Harran. "The Governor is calling us.
Come on; I'm going."

Osterman got out of the ditch and came forward, catching Harran by the
arm and pulling him back.

"He didn't call. Don't get excited. You'll ruin everything. Get back
into the ditch again."

But Cutter, Phelps, and the old man Dabney, misunderstanding what
was happening, and seeing Osterman leave the ditch, had followed his
example. All the Leaguers were now out of the ditch, and a little way
down the road, Hooven, Osterman, Annixter, and Harran in front, Dabney,
Phelps, and Cutter coming up from behind.

"Keep back, you," cried the deputy again.

In the group around S. Behrman's buggy, Gethings and Delaney were yet
quarrelling, and the angry debate between Magnus, Garnett, and the
marshal still continued.

Till this moment, the real estate broker, Christian, had taken no part
in the argument, but had kept himself in the rear of the buggy. Now,
however, he pushed forward. There was but little room for him to pass,
and, as he rode by the buggy, his horse scraped his flank against the
hub of the wheel. The animal recoiled sharply, and, striking against
Garnett, threw him to the ground. Delaney's horse stood between the
buggy and the Leaguers gathered on the road in front of the ditch; the
incident, indistinctly seen by them, was misinterpreted.

Garnett had not yet risen when Hooven raised a great shout:

"HOCH, DER KAISER! HOCH, DER VATERLAND!"

With the words, he dropped to one knee, and sighting his rifle
carefully, fired into the group of men around the buggy.

Instantly the revolvers and rifles seemed to go off of themselves. Both
sides, deputies and Leaguers, opened fire simultaneously. At first, it
was nothing but a confused roar of explosions; then the roar lapsed to
an irregular, quick succession of reports, shot leaping after shot;
then a moment's silence, and, last of all, regular as clock-ticks, three
shots at exact intervals. Then stillness.

Delaney, shot through the stomach, slid down from his horse, and, on
his hands and knees, crawled from the road into the standing wheat.
Christian fell backward from the saddle toward the buggy,