“But I don’t want a mob of you out there, messing things up and starting trouble. I want to propose a fair and square deal all around. You boys elect a committee of three to accompany the coroner; the rest of you stick around town and wait. If that suits you, go on back home. If it don’t, then ride ahead—and take your medicine.
“You two Running Dog men! Come on alone a dozen steps. I want a personal word with you boys, and I’d advise you not to pull for any guns. Come on!”
There was a moment of hesitation. Then the two punchers urged their horses forward. Into the road ahead came the figure of Sam Fisher on foot. Cowed, startled, fearful, the crowd watched to see what would happen.
“If you two boys want to go on to the Running Dog,” Fisher said quietly, “you’re free to go ahead. But I warn you here and now that your boss is facing trouble. Every man with him will become an accessory. You know me, boys, and you know I mean what I say. I’m giving you fair warning. Buck, it appears, got Jake Harper to-day, and the Circle Bar outfit is behind me to the limit. You know what that means—every man of ’em a sharpshooter, out to kill! The roads are watched; your outfit will be shot down the minute you reach the Running Dog buildings. Ride on if you want to—but you can’t come back, boys.”
The two riders sat motionless, drinking in his words. Most of those words had reached the crowd. News that Buck had “got” Jake Harper was paralyzing; it meant war to the finish with the Circle Bar. Few in the crowd doubted any longer that it was Buck who had murdered Cervantes. This sheriff of Pecos was too steady, too composed, too certain of his position. He was no murderer.
The two Running Dog men glanced at each other. A word passed between them; they knew full well what it meant if they rode forward. But they were men, unafraid.
“Much obliged, sheriff,” said the foremost coolly. “You’re sure actin’ white. Jest the same, we’re workin’ for the Runnin’ Dawg and we don’t aim to lay down on the job.”
“All right, boys; I’m sorry.” Fisher stood aside. “The road’s yours! Let these two boys pass, fellers—and plug the first to follow.”
“All right, Sam,” came the voice of Arnold.
The two cowboys rode on. Not a man followed them. When they had vanished into the darkness, Fisher stepped up and addressed the crowd.