But the sheriff still said "No," that he didn't care for any more authority than he had—that anything new in that line might make him proud. He said he thought he would enjoy sitting there in the hack where he would have a good view of what happened to them when they tackled that outfit.
McDonald and Burson, therefore, set out in the light buggy, driving leisurely across the intervening space. Arriving near the log-house, they discovered that five men were up, and sitting sleepily on the ground in front of their cabin, their Winchesters leaning against the wall behind them. Evidently they did not look for any attack, and even when they saw the approaching buggy, their wits were not sufficiently collected to suspect that these might be officers; nor could they realize that any two men in a buggy would drive over to attempt their capture. In another instant they were covered.
"Get up from there and throw up your hands!" was the word of greeting they received. "And don't try to touch them guns. The first man that tries it I'll kill him."
The five men rose—it was polite to do so—also, they refrained from offering any discourtesy in the matter of the guns. McDonald now called the roll of the names he wanted, and curious as it may seem, each man answered to his name. One man of the six wanted, being missing, the officers proceeded to hand-cuff and shackle the five captured men, and marched them back to the hack, where the sheriff of Hansford was waiting.
Of course the sheriff didn't believe it was true. He had had such dreams before and thought he would wake up, presently, at home, in bed. When he convinced himself at last that he was not asleep, he offered to aid in the search for the sixth man. He was well acquainted with the Territory trails, and McDonald decided to send Burson to Hansford with the hack-load and to proceed with the buggy and the sheriff after Number Six of the gang who, it appeared, had a place of his own some twenty miles away.
Number Six was out looking after his cattle—about thirty in number—the result of industry—when McDonald and the sheriff of Hansford arrived, and not expecting official guests, was unprepared. He had, in fact, "no more gun than a rabbit," as Deputy Bill said afterward, and his capture was child's play. That night the gang complete set out for Wichita Falls, to be tried later in the United States Court at Dallas.
Raids followed each other rapidly. One gang of cattle thieves after another was gathered in, and took up the march for Dallas and trial. Outlawing in No-man's Land became an unpopular occupation. Men of more legitimate enterprise began to wonder if the time was not coming, by and by, when they could do business on or within the borders of that territory without the protection of a company of soldiers. The fame of Bill McDonald was on every man's tongue, and those who had not seen him, especially the outlaws still at large, usually conceived him to be a very terrible person: large, bushy, heavy of voice and fierce of mien. Yet he was just the opposite of all these things. He was slender, quiet, blue-eyed, and gentle of voice—only, he had that gift of command—that look, and that manner of speech with law-breakers which they did not disobey. The time came presently in No-man's Land when his name alone and a rumor that he was coming was sufficient to cause a gang to contemplate emigration. Perhaps they believed he bore a charmed life, and it was useless to resist him. If so, they were hardly to be blamed for such a conviction.