One morning the riotous, reckless, feverish town of Ramapo awoke to a
new excitement. On a rude bulletin-board in front of the post-office,
appeared a poster in large, clear letters. No one knew how it had come
there. The post-office force had discovered it when “he” arrived to open
up for the day.
Its message was brief and to the point:
To the People of Ramapo:
Law and Order are hereby declared in force. All men are warned that
henceforth lawlessness will be met with swift punishment. Serious
offenses will merit death. J.
Though the letters in all the rest of the notice were black, the “J” at
the end was in bright-red. It was large, and set squarely in the center
of the sheet. There was a quiet power in the single red character, an
absence of bluster in the wording, that did not fail to have their
effect. A large crowd quickly gathered. Men read the poster with serious
faces, and questions flew thick and fast as to its origin and meaning.
No one knew. No one could find out. Some openly scoffed. But the large J
remained there, looking out at the crowd with a sort of calm and
confident power!
Rumors sped from mouth to mouth and were expanded at every exchange. A
vague uneasiness, a feeling that there was something in the wind and
that the warning boded new and sinister experiences for the town, served
for a time to throw a damper on its reckless gaiety.
Then a tall, thin miner forced his horse through the crowd, read the
message, and broke into a loud guffaw. It seemed to relieve the
situation. Several others laughed with him.
“Feller citizens,” said Wasp Williams, wheeling his horse and facing the
crowd, “I begs to call your attention to this noble appeal which you
sees behind me. You all knows the respect an’ esteem which I feels for
them two contrivances, knowed as law an’ order! There ain’t nothin’ to
compare with ’em! They offers refuge to tender feet an’ pertection to
the weak-kneed. Them which is careless with language, but don’t hanker
none to face the business end o’ these little toys us men is kind o’
partial to out here, cries for law an’ order like a baby for its bottle.
They gotta have it so’s red-blooded he-men won’t decorate ’em with lead
when they gits naughty. I’m in favor of it, by all means! But it strikes
me, friends, as how this here notice shows a disconcertin’ lack o’
common ornamentation; and I figgers you’d be kind o’ pleased if I fixed
it up pretty an’ attractive-like.”
He turned again, and drew both of his revolvers. With careless accuracy,
he fired bullet after bullet into the sign. Twice he reloaded, and the
flame leaped in a steady stream from the muzzles until the chambers were
empty. Then he thrust them back. He took off his hat, made a jeering bow
to the groups before him, and addressed them.
“As a leadin’ inhabitant o’ this here flourishin’ metropolis,” he
remarked, “I has the honor to present my answer to the aforesaid
warnin’.”
There was a shout, then a roar of laughter, from, the crowd. The tension
was broken. Across the face of the notice the bullet-holes dearly traced
the letters D-a-m! That was Williams’s version of the spelling of the
word.
Another horse cantered up to the outskirts of the crowd. In the saddle
was the straight, graceful figure of Jeanne Dudley. Seeing her, Williams
made another mock bow and called to her across the heads of the men
between them.
“We is celebratin’ the beginnin’ o’ law an’ order here in Ramapo,” he
said. “P’r’aps you would like to git a glimpse o’ the announcement o’
this surprisin’ an’ gratifyin’ change. Boys, give way there a little an’
let the lady through.”
The crowd parted. The girl leisurely walked her horse nearer. Then she
saw the bullet-holes in the poster and stopped. With a scornful glance
at the man before her, she drew her own weapon and leveled it at the
sign.
“Your spelling is rather poor,” she remarked coolly. “There is another
letter in that word. Perhaps I can impress it on your memory better by
using your own methods.”
The revolver cracked out six times, was quickly reloaded, and flashed
again. Then the girl returned it to its holster, skillfully piloted her
roan through the crowd, and trotted away.
Another burst of laughter and applause went up from the crowd. The
missing “n” now appeared on the poster, and its even lines exhibited
much more perfect shooting than had the letters stamped by the leaden
markers of the Wasp. His triumph had been snatched away from him!
Chagrined and flushing, he stood scowling after her.
“Got yuh that time, Wasp!” one of the men before him laughed.
Williams looked down from his horse upon the speaker, a small man
notable for his very gray hair and his pleasant expression. The heavy,
vertical lines between his eyebrows deepened.
“Mebbe so,” he answered; “mebbe so! But git this idear into that little
think-organ o’ yourn, an’ plant it there; I’ll git her ’fore I’m done,
an’ what I gits I keeps!”
“You got a full day’s work ahead o’ you, then! There ain’t no ‘fool’s
gold’ about that girl!”
“Your tongue is too active for a feller o’ your size, stranger. Reckon
you better be movin’!”
The little man paled, but his voice, when he replied, was even and
unafraid.
“I never run from nobody yet, an’ I don’t figger to begin now.”
“No? Then stay, since you insists! An’ accept this little token o’ my
esteem!”
The revolver of the Wasp darted from his hip, shot forward, and flashed
once. The other staggered. He strove to keep his feet, but collapsed in
the dust. A couple of bystanders carried him into the nearest house,
while some one casually looked for a doctor. One of the bearers, a huge,
powerful fellow, swore violently.
“The hound!” he growled. “He didn’t give little Peterson a chance!”
The other eyed the wounded man sympathetically. “Williams ain’t bothered
with no sech scruples as that,” he said. “Besides, he’s been totin’ a
grudge agin ‘Smiley’ here, an’ figgered this was a chance to git even.”
“How’s that?”
“Seems the little feller strayed into town a couple o’ days ago an’
showed some nuggets so big they nearly made the eyes o’ Wasp an’ his
gang pop out. They tried to git him full an’ then find out where his
claim is. But it didn’t work. The little man was too sharp for ’em.”
“Good for him! Hope he gits well an’ shoots the everlastin’ daylights
out o’ that coyote!”
“He’ll git over it, all right. Ain’t nothin’ serious, I reckon. Guess
the Wasp wasn’t tryin’ to kill him outright, ’cause then he’d never git
to know where the little feller has planted his stakes! An’, if I was
you, McCoy, I wouldn’t be too careless with them remarks. Funerals is
too common in this town as it is!”
Outside, the momentary hush which had fallen upon the crowd was quickly
lifted. Some shrugged their shoulders. Others laughed. One or two tried
a few pot-shots at the red “J” for luck; and in a short while the town
was about its haphazard business as indifferent, as unconcerned as ever.