Tall Ed had drifted into Sulphur from the Southwest some six months
before, and although fairly well known among the ranchers on the Wire
Grass, was not a familiar figure in town. The news of his appointment
was received with laughter by the loafers and with wonder by the quiet
citizens, who coldly said:
"He appears like a full-sized man, but size don't count. There's Clayt
Mink, for instance, the worst little moth-eaten scrap in the state, and
yet he'll kill at the drop of a hat. Sooner or later he's going to try
out this new marshal same as he did the others."
This seemed likely, for Mink owned and operated the biggest
gambling-house in Sulphur, and was considered to be (as he was) a
dangerous man. He already hated Kelley, who had once protected a drunken
cattleman from being almost openly robbed in his saloon. Furthermore, he
was a relentless political foe to Hornaby.
He was indeed a mere scrap of a man, with nothing about him full-sized
except his mustache. And yet, despite his unheroic physique, he was
quick and remorseless in action. In Italy he would have carried a
dagger. In England he would have been a light-weight rough-and-tumble
fighter. In the violent West he was a gunman, menacing every citizen who
crossed his inclination, and he took Kelley's appointment as a direct
affront on the part of Hornaby and Pulfoot.
"He'd better keep out of my way," he remarked to his friends, with a
malignant sneer.
Kelley was not deceived in his adversary. "He's a coward at heart, like
all these hair-hung triggers," he said to Pulfoot. "I'm not hunting any
trouble with him, but--" It was not necessary to finish his sentence;
his voice and smile indicated his meaning.
The town was comparatively quiet for the first month or two after Kelley
took office. It seemed that the rough element was reflectively taking
his measure, and Hornaby's herders, as they rode in and out of town,
told stories of Tall Ed's rough and ready experiences, which helped to
establish official confidence in him.
"I reckon we've done the right thing this time," wrote Pulfoot to
Hornaby. "The boys all seem to realize we've got a _man_ in office."
This calm, this unnatural calm, was broken one night by Mink himself,
who shot and all but killed the livery-stable keeper in a dispute over
roulette. Knowing that his deed would bring the new marshal down upon
him at once, the gambler immediately declared determined war.
"The man who comes after me will need a wooden overcoat," he
promulgated. "I won't stand being hounded. That hostler was pulling his
gun on me. I got him first, that's all. It was a fair fight, and
everybody knows it."
The liveryman was, in fact, armed at the time, and the disposition of
many citizens was to "let him learn his lesson." But Judge Pulfoot,
fearing Hornaby's temper, ordered Kelley to get his man.
"Tom wants that weasel disciplined," he said. "He's a damage to the
community."
Kelley received his orders with calmness. "Well, Judge," he said, after
a little pause, "I'll get him, but I'd like to do it in my own way. To
go after him just now gives him the inside position. He'll hear of me
the minute I start and will be backed up into the corner somewhere with
his gun all poised."
"Are you afraid?"
"You can call it that," the young marshal languidly replied. "I don't
believe in taking fool chances. Mink is a dead shot, and probably
wire-edged with whisky and expecting me. My plan is to wait until he's a
little off his guard--then go in quick and pull him down."
To this the judge gave reluctant consent. But when, a few hours later,
he heard that Mink had disappeared he was indignant. "You get that devil
or we'll let you out," he said, and showed a telegram from Hornaby
protesting against this new outbreak of violence. "The old man's
red-headed over it."
"I know it," said Kelley. "I heard from him to that effect. If the
hostler dies we won't see Mink no more. If he's in town I'll get him.
Good _night_."