s began on the day
when James Shields, for reasons hereinafter set forth, became actively
interested in his career.

Shields, by common consent Keeper of the Law over a territory as large as
the State of New Jersey and whom out of courtesy I will call sheriff,
was no coward, and neither was he a fool; and when word came to him
that The Orphan had made a mess of two sheep herders near the U Bend of
the Limping Water Creek, he did not forthwith pace the street and
inform the citizens of Ford's Station that he was about to start on a
journey which had for its object the congratulation of The Orphan at
long range. Upon occasions his taciturnity became oppressive, especially
when grave dangers or tense situations demanded concentration of thought.
The more he thought the less he talked, the one notable exception
being when stirred to righteous anger by personal insults, in which case
his words flowed smoothly along one channel while his thoughts gripped a
single idea. To his acquaintances he varied as the mood directed, often
saying practically nothing for hours, and at other times discoursing
volubly. One thing, a word of his, had become proverbial--when Shields
said "Hell!" he was in no mood for pleasantries, and the third repetition
of the word meant red, red anger. He was a man of strong personality,
who loved his friends in staunch, unswerving loyalty; and he tolerated
his enemies until the last ditch had been reached.

He, like The Orphan, was essentially a humorist in the finest definition
of the term, inasmuch as he could find humor in the worst possible
situations. He was even now forcibly struck with the humor of his
contemplated ride, for The Orphan would be so very much surprised to see
him. He could picture the expression of weary toleration which would
grace the outlaw's face over the sights, and he chuckled inwardly as
he thought of how The Orphan would swear. He did his shooting as an
unavoidable duty, a business, a stern necessity; and he took great
delight in its accuracy. When he shot at a man he did it with becoming
gravity, but nevertheless he radiated pride and cheerfulness when he hit
the man's nose or eye or Adam's apple at a hundred yards. All the time
he knew that the man ought to die, that it was a case of necessity, and
this explains why he was so pleased about the eye or nose or Adam's apple.

With The Orphan popular opinion said it was far different; that his humor
was ghastly, malevolent, mur