The discussion which took place over the bars of the town was at the riot-heat by nine o’clock, and soon after ten a crowd of howling, whooping bad boys, and disreputable ranch-hands was parading the walks, breathing out vile threats against the ranger.
Accustomed to men of this type, Cavanagh watched them come and go at Halsey’s bar with calculating eyes. “There will be no trouble for an hour or two, but meanwhile what is to be done? Higley is not to be found, and the town marshal is also ‘out of town.’” To Halsey he said: “I am acting, as you know, under both Federal and State authority, and I call upon you as a law-abiding citizen to aid me in holding these men prisoners. I shall camp right here till morning, or until the magistrate or the marshal relieves me of my culprits.”
Halsey was himself a sportsman—a genuine lover of hunting and a fairly consistent upholder of the game laws; but perceiving that the whole town had apparently lined up in opposition to the ranger, he lost courage. His consent was half-hearted, and he edged away toward the front window of his bar-room, nervously seeking to be neutral—“to carry water on both shoulders,” as the phrase goes.
The talk grew less jocular as the drinks took effect, and Neill Ballard, separating himself from the crowd, came forward, calling loudly: “Come out o’ there, Joe! Youse a hell of a sport! Come out and have a drink!”
His words conveyed less of battle than his tone. He was, in fact, urging a revolt, and Cavanagh knew it.
Gregg rose as if to comply. The ranger stopped him. “Keep your seat,” said he. And to Ballard he warningly remarked: “And you keep away from my prisoners.”
“Do you own this saloon?” retorted the fellow, truculently. “I reckon Halsey’s customers have some rights. What are you doing here, anyway? This is no jail.”
“Halsey has given me the privilege of holding my prisoners here till the justice is found. It isn’t my fault that the town is without judge or jail.” He was weakened by the knowledge that Halsey had only half-consented to aid justice; but his pride was roused, and he was determined upon carrying his arrest to its legitimate end. “I’m going to see that these men are punished if I have to carry them to Sulphur City,” he added.
“Smash the lights!” shouted some one at the back.
Here was the first real note of war, and Ross cried out sharply: “If a man lifts a hand toward the light I’ll cut it off!”