“Mark that ‘fortunately’, Sheriff,” laughed Morris. “The editor was afraid to mention you alone, so he hitched the State on with you to lighten the load.”
“Ay!” chimed in another of the gamblers, “and the ‘aid and succour of each and every citizen,’ eh, Sheriff, as if you’d take the whole town with you. I guess two or three’ll be enough fer Williams.”
This annoyed me. It appeared to me that Williams had addressed a personal challenge to the Sheriff, and I thought that Johnson should so consider it. Without waiting for the Sheriff to answer, whether in protest or acquiescence, I broke in:
“Two or three would be cowardly. One should go, and one only.” At once I felt rather than saw the Sheriff free himself from the group of men; the next moment he stood opposite to me.
“What was that?” he asked sharply, holding me with keen eye and out-thrust chin—repressed passion in voice and look.
The antagonism of his bearing excited and angered me not a little. I replied:
“I think it would be cowardly to take two or three against a single man. I said one should go, and I say so still.”
“Do you?” he sneered. “I guess you’d go alone, wouldn’t you? to bring Williams in?”
“If I were paid for it I should,” was my heedless retort. As I spoke his face grew white with such passion that I instinctively put up my hands to defend myself, thinking he was about to attack me. The involuntary movement may have seemed boyish to him, for thought came into his eyes, and his face relaxed; moving away he said quietly:
“I’ll set up drinks, boys.”