ected to----"

There came from the crowd the sound of a sad, high-keyed voice,
drawling: "That's a nice vest Jim's got on, but it ain't hardly the
feathers fitten for an ostrich, is it?"

The editor's gravity gave way; he broke into a ringing laugh and turned
again to the shell-men. "Give up the boy's money. Hurry."

"Step down here and git it," said the one who had spoken.

There was a turbulent motion in the crowd, and a cry arose, "Run 'em
out! Ride 'em on a rail! Tar and feathers! Run 'em out o' town!"

"I wouldn't dilly-dally long if I were you," said Harkless, and his
advice seemed good to the shell-men. A roll of bills, which he counted
and turned over to the elder Bowlder, was sullenly placed in his hand.
The fellow who had not yet spoken clutched the journalist's sleeve with
his dirty hand.

"We hain't done wit' youse," he said, hoarsely. "Don't belief it, not
fer a minute, see?"

The Town Marshal opened his eyes briskly, and placing a hand on each of
the gamblers, said: "I hereby do arrest your said persons, and declare
you my prisoners." The cry rose again, louder: "Run 'em out! String 'em
up! Hang them! Hang them!" and a forward rush was made.

"This way, Jim. Be quick," said Harkless, quietly, bending down and
jerking one of the gamblers half-way up the steps. "Get through the hall
to the other side and then run them to the lock-up. No one will stop
you that way. Watts and I will hold this door." Bardlock hustled his
prisoners through the doorway, and the crowd pushed up the steps, while
Harkless struggled to keep the vestibule clear until Watts got the
double doors closed. "Stand back, here!" he cried; "it's all over. Don't
be foolish. The law is good enough for us. Stand back, will you!"

He was laughing a little, shoving them back with open hand and elbow,
when a small, compact group of men suddenly dashed up the steps
together, and a heavy stick swung out over their heads. A straw hat with
a gay ribbon sailed through the air. The journalist's long arms went
out swiftly from his body in several directions, the hands not open, but
clenched and hard. The next instant he and Mr. Watts stood alone on the
steps, and a man with a bleeding, blaspheming mouth dropped his
stick and tried to lose himself in the crowd. Mr. Watts was returning
something he had not used to his hip-pocket.

"Prophets of Israel!" exclaimed William Todd, ruefully, "it wasn't Eph
Watts's pistol. Did you see Mr. Harkless? I was