"I reckon this is a deppitation," said the sheriff, as he glared down-hill.
"I don't like deputations of seven," said Apache Kid, looking down to the honeysuckle. "We were visited by one deputation of seven on this trip already; eh, Francis?"
"Ho?" said the sheriff. "You did n't tell me;" but he was not looking at Apache. He was gazing across the rolling land towards those who were coming in our direction, now quite plain to see—seven mounted men, armed, and suspicion-rousing.
"Pity about them guns and shells being lost," said the sheriff, and then he sung out:
"Halt right there and talk. What you want?"
One man moved his horse a step or two ahead of the others, who had reined in.
"We want that man you have there," said he.
"Halt right there," said the sheriff again; and then he remarked to Apache:
"Reckon you 'd rather travel down to Baker City with a reputable sheriff and have an orderly trial before hangin' instead o' hangin' up here-aways without no trial."
"I 'd rather go down——"