s
affair; I did not even know which man was in the right. Reason led
directly to the conclusion that I had better turn the horse's head
northwards, drive as fast and as far as I could, and take the train as
soon as possible out of the country. But while I recognized that this
was the only sensible decision, I felt that I could not carry it into
action. To run away was impossible; my cheeks burned with shame at the
thought.

Was I to give my life for a stupid practical joke? "Yes!"--a voice
within me answered sharply. "It would be well if a man could always
choose the cause for which he risks his life, but it may happen that he
ought to throw it away for a reason that seems inadequate."

"What ought I to do?" I questioned.

"Go on to Osawotamie, arrest Williams, and bring him into Kiota,"
replied my other self.

"And if he won't come?"

"Shoot him--you are charged to deliver him 'alive or dead' at the
Sheriff's house. No more thinking, drive straight ahead and act as if
you were a representative of the law and Williams a criminal. It has to
be done."

The resolution excited me, I picked up the reins and proceeded. At the
next section-line I turned to the right, and ten or fifteen minutes
later saw Osawotamie in the distance.

I drew up, laid the reins on the dashboard, and examined the revolver.
It was a small four-shooter, with a large bore. To make sure of its
efficiency I took out a cartridge; it was quite new. While weighing it
in my hand, the Sheriff's words recurred to me, "It wouldn't stop any
one with grit in him." What did he mean? I didn't want to think, so
I put the cartridge in again, cocked and replaced the pistol in my
right-side jacket pocket, and drove on. Osawotamie consisted of a single
street of straggling frame-buildings. After passing half-a-dozen of
them I saw, on the right, one which looked to me like a saloon. It was
evidently a stopping-place. There were several hitching-posts, and
the house boasted instead of a door two green Venetian blinds put upon
rollers--the usual sign of a drinking-saloon in the West.

I got out of the buggy slowly and carefully, so as not to shift the
position of the revolver, and after hitching up the horse, entered the
saloon. Coming out of the glare of the sunshine I could hardly see in
the darkened room. In a moment or two my eyes grew accustomed to the dim
light, and I went over to the bar, which was on my left. The bar-keeper
was sitting down; his head an