nt by name of Chapman,
and a homesteader who was known as One-eyed Pennyman. Inside the
house, playing cards with Curly, were four other men. Franklin noticed
that they all were armed. They all appeared, from their story, to have
just dropped in to pass a little time with Curly. From time to time
others dropped in, most of them remaining outside in the moonlight,
sitting on their heels along the porch, talking but little, and then
mentioning anything but the one subject which was uppermost in every
one's mind. Yet, though nothing was said, it might well be seen that
this little body of men were of those who had taken the stand for law
and order, and who were resolved upon a new day in the history of the
town.

It was a battle of the two hotels and what they represented. Over at
the great barroom of the Cottage there was at the same time assembled a
much larger gathering, composed chiefly of those transient elements
which at that time really made up the larger portion of the population
of the place--wide-hatted men, with narrow boots and broad belts at
which swung heavy, blued revolvers with broad wooden butts--a
wild-looking, wild-living body of men, savage in some ways, gentle in
others, but for the most part just, according to their creed. The long
bar was crowded, and outside the door many men were standing along the
wide gallery. They, too, were reticent. All drank whisky, and drank
it regularly. Up to ten o'clock the whisky had produced no effect.
The assembly was still engaged in deliberation, drinking and thinking,
calmly, solemnly.

At ten o'clock a big Texan raised his glass high above his head and
smashed it upon the bar.

"Law an' order be damned!" said he. "What kind o' law an' order is it
to let a murderin' Greaser like that come clear? Which of us'll be the
next he'd kill?"

There was no answer. A sigh, a shiver, a little rustling sound passed
over the crowd.

"We always used ter run our business good enough," resumed the Texan.
"What need we got o' lawyers now? Didn't this Greaser kill Cal?
Crazy? He's just crazy enough to be mean. He's crazy so'st he ain't
safe, that's what."

The stir was louder. A cowman motioned, and the barkeeper lined the
whole bar with glasses, setting out six bottles of conviction.

"Curly means all right," said one voice. "I know that boy, an' he's
all right."

"Shore he's all right!" said the first voice, "an' so's Bill Watson all
right. But what's