The deputies spluttered with rage and fear. Shots rained about them and the canvas of the wagon was riddled. French began to get restless.
“Look here,” he said to Laura, “I can’t stand this any longer. It don’t seem right to have two officers of the law treated like that, any way. I guess I’ll have to butt in again.”
“Don’t,” Laura advised bluntly. “You’ll get yours if you do.”
A yell from one of the deputies clinched the matter. French drew his revolver and advanced into the centre of the little group.
“Say, you fellows,” he exclaimed, “you’ve got to stop this! Those men came here on a legitimate errand and it’s your duty to respect them.”
Long Jim strolled up to the Inspector.
“Maybe you’re right, Mr. French,” he remarked, “but—”
With a swoop of his long arm he snatched French’s gun away, examined it for a moment, looked at French and shook his head.
“You’re too fat, Inspector,” he declared sorrowfully, “still too fat. That’s what’s the matter with you. Another ten minutes’ exercise will do you all the good in the world.”
A bullet struck the dust a few inches from French’s feet. Furious with rage, he found himself once more forced to resort to undignified antics. This time, however, Laura intervened. She walked straight up into the little circle and stood close to French’s side, regardless of the levelled guns.