"And who are you?" Jim asked, as he looked at the tall, bulky figure of
Bud Hardy. He had forgotten that Bill, earlier in the afternoon, had
pointed out this man to him, and warned him of his friendship with Cash
Hawkins.
Gathered about Bud were Hawkins's faction, who resented the Englishman's
presence among them, and with them several who, only a few hours ago,
had been cheering Jim. Bud Hardy answered his question with tolerant
amusement.
"The County Sheriff," he said.
To the surprise of all, Jim advanced and handed his gun to Bud.
"Come on, you're my prisoner." Even Bud felt that this was extremely
difficult. No resistance from the prisoner--no denial! It was unusual.
But as he stepped towards Jim he was stopped by Bill.
"Wait a minute, Bud; don't be in such a ferocious hurry. Where you
goin' to take him to?"
Bill's heart beat fast, but he gave no sign of the fear that filled him.
He knew what this might mean for the boss. The faces of the other men
of Jim's ranch grew gray--they too realized, far more than Jim did, that
it was not the justice of the law that was to be his, but--well, the
crowds grew blood-thirsty sometimes in Maverick. They had seen sights
that the boss had not--an ugly swinging vision passed before their eyes,
but no hint was given of this by the men. Each one knew that it would be
the most unwise move they could make for the boss's sake.
Bill's big, slow voice was heard again in its careless drawl. "Wait a
minute, Bud; don't be in such a ferocious hurry. Where you goin' to
take him to?"
"County jail, of course, at Jansen," was Hardy's answer.
Bill then asked, as he surveyed Hawkins's gang, who were whispering
together with several of the hangers-on of the place, "How do you know
the friends of the deceased won't take him away from you and hang him to
the nearest telegraph-pole, eh?"
It was lightly said, and as he said it Bill laid his big hand on Bud's
shoulder. He must conciliate the Sheriff, gain time--anything.
But Bud shook Bill off. "Are you goin' to interfere with me in the
discharge of my duty?" he blustered.
"Not a bit, Bud, not a bit," Bill said; then, with sudden resolve--it
would mean his life, and the lives of others against them, perhaps, but
he meant to fight if necessary--he added: "But we're goin' to see that
you do it. We ain't afraid of a trial and a jury." He took the crowd
into his confidence. "There isn't a jury in the State that wouldn't
present the prisoner with a vote of thanks and a silver service for
gettin' rid of Cash Hawkins."
He turned to Bud with his men about him. "Who's goin' to help you take
him seventy-five miles to jail?" he demanded. "Will you swear us in?"