"No, sir, I am not!" the sheriff replied, plainly on the defence.
As the second squad came galloping up, the sheriff's party greeted them with nods and low words. Curtis heard one man ask: "Where's Charley? I thought he was coming," and became perfectly certain that this meeting had been prearranged. The new-comers mingled with the sheriff's party quite indistinguishably and made no further explanation of their presence.
The young officer burned hot with indignation. "Sheriff Winters, order these men to retire at once. They have no business here!"
A mutter of rage ran over the mob and several hands dropped ostentatiously upon pistols.
One loud-voiced young whelp called out an insulting word. "You go to ——! We'll retire when we get an Injun, not before!"
"Shut up, you fool!" called the sheriff, and, turning to Jenks, began to mutter in consultation. Curtis advanced a step, and raising his voice addressed the entire mob.
"As commander of this reservation, I order you to withdraw. Your presence here is unlawful and menacing. Retire to the boundary of the reservation, and I will use every effort to discover the murderer. If he is in the tribe I will find him and deliver him to the county authorities."
At this one of the same young ruffians who had challenged him before spurred his horse close to Curtis, and with his pistol in his hand shouted: "Not by a d—— sight. We come to take it out o' these thieves, and we're goin' to do it. Go ahead, Winters—say the word and well clean out the whole tribe."
Curtis looked the youth in the eye. "My boy, I advise you to make war slowly, even with your mouth."
Calvin Streeter, with his teeth clinched, crowded his horse forward and struck the insolent hoodlum in the face with his hat. "Shut up, or I'll pinch your neck off! Think you're sheriff?" The belligerent retired, snarling wild curses.