“You could do that, ma’am. But I reckon it’s a waste of time.”
“How?”
“Well, you see, ma’am, the sheriff in this county don’t amount to a heap—considered as a sheriff. He mostly draws his salary an’ keeps out of trouble, much as he can. There ain’t no court in the county nearer than Las Vegas, an’ that’s a hundred an’ fifty miles from here. An’, mostly, the court don’t want to be bothered with hearin’ rustler cases—there bein’ no regular law governin’ them, an’ conviction bein’ hard to get. So the sheriff don’t bother.”
“But there must be some way to stop them from stealing!” she said sharply.
“I reckon there’s a way, ma’am.” And now she heard him laugh, quietly, and again she turned and looked at him. His face grew grave again, instantly. “But I reckon you wouldn’t approve of it, ma’am,” he added.
“I would approve of most any method of stopping them—within reason!” she declared vindictively, nettled by his tone.
“We mostly hang them, ma’am,” he said. “That’s a sure way of stoppin’ them.”
She shuddered. “Do you mean that you hang them without a court verdict—on your own responsibility?”
“That’s the way, ma’am.”
“But doesn’t the sheriff punish men who hang others in that manner?” she went on in tones of horror.