“Well, gents? Going to break through, or take my advice about sending that committee?”
There was un uneasy laugh from the crowd.
“Guess we’ll send the committee, sheriff.”
With a surging of turned horses, the crowd headed about and started back for town. Fisher gazed after them until the darkness had swallowed up the mob; then he turned, and found Steve Arnold at his elbow.
“Red, you’re sure a wonder!” exclaimed Steve admiringly. “You done it. What next?”
“Riding,” replied Fisher. “Hard riding, Steve. You know the country better than I do. You have to go ahead to the Circle Bar and get every last one of Jake Harper’s boys out around Buck’s place; no fighting, understand, but the Running Dog outfit must be cooped up. Tell ’em to drop any man that rides out.”
“Ain’t enough of ’em,” objected Arnold dubiously.
“Sure there is.” Fisher laughed. “Those old fellows are dead shots, Steve; you don’t know ’em. They’ll circle out around the Running Dog buildings and close up things tighter than a drum. Anyhow, they have to do it. Tell them I’ll be over to-morrow, after getting cleaned up at the Lazy S. And tell them to wait, understand? Wait! No foolishness. Then you come ahead to the Lazy S yourself. I’m going there now.”
“S’pose Jake’s all right?” suggested Arnold. “We ain’t certain that Buck got him——”
“The orders stand. If Jake’s there, tell him it’s a clean-up of the Running Dog.”