"Better load up, Sam," said Sandy grimly, "we ain't out of this yet.
That'll be Jim Plimsoll's brother-in-law, likely."

"Here come our ponies."

As yet they could see nothing advancing, but a horse whinnied from the
plain lying between them and the Three Star road.

"Pronto," said Sandy, shoving cartridges into his guns.

A body of mounted men had come out from town and ridden fast upon the
bridge. The foremost stopped with an exclamation at the missing boards.
All wheeled in some confusion and slid their horses down into the
arroyo to scramble up the bank again and spur for Sam and Sandy just as
the pinto and the roan, curveted up to their masters. The two cowmen
leaped for their seats, Sandy temporarily sheathing one gun. They faced
the townsmen who formed a half-circle about them.

"You, Sandy Bourke an' Sam Manning, stick up yore hands!"

"You got good eyesight," returned Sandy. "What's the idee? Ef you shoot,
don't miss, I'm holdin' tol'able close ter-night."

His tone was almost good-humored, tolerant, full of confidence.

"You was shootin' in town limits. May have killed some one. Ag'in' the
law to shoot inside the Herefo'd line. I'm goin' to take you in."

"You air?" Sandy's drawl was charged with mockery. "How about the
Herefo'd men who stahted the fireworks? Ef you want our guns, Sheriff,
come an' take 'em. First come, first served."

There was no forward movement. A man swore as his horse began to dance.

"You go back an' tell Jim Plimsoll to do his own dirty wo'k, if he's got
any guts left fo' tryin'. Me, I'm goin' home."

The sheriff and his hastily gathered band of irregular deputies, working
in the interests of Plimsoll, knew, with sufficient intimacy to endow
them with caution, the general record of Sandy Bourke and Soda-Water
Sam. None of them wanted to risk a shot--and miss. Sandy would not. Even
a fatal wound might not prevent him taking toll. Sam was almost as
dangerous. They were politicians rather than fighting men, every one of
them. And they were tolerably certain that Plimsoll had ambushed the two
from the Three Star. His methods were akin to their own. The sheriff
blustered.

"I ain't through with you yit, Sandy Bourke. I know where to find you."

"You-all are goin' to have a mighty hard time findin' yo'se'f afteh
election, Sheriff, as it is. The cowmen ain't crazy about you. They
might take a notion to escort you out of the county limits."

"You're inside the town line. I---