"You can't tell what such civilized persons will do," said Lawson. "But Curtis has the sheriff thinking, and the worst of it is over."
"Here they come again!" exclaimed Wilson, who surprised Curtis by remaining cool and watchful through this first mutiny.
At a swift gallop the sheriff and his posse came whirling back up the road—a wild and warlike squad—hardly more tractable than the redoubtables they had rounded up and thrown down the valley.
"I think you had better go in," said Curtis to Elsie. "Jennie, take her back to the house for a little while."
"No, let us stay," cried Elsie. "I want to see this sheriff myself. If we hear the talk we'll be less nervous."
Curtis was firm. "This is no place for you. These cowboys have no respect for God, man, or devil; please go in."
Jennie started to obey, but Elsie obstinately held her ground.
"I will not! I have the right to know what is threatening me! I always hated to go below in a storm."
In a cloud of dust—with snorting of excited horses, the posse, with the sheriff at its head, again pulled up at the gate. The young men stared at the two daintily dressed girls with eyes of stupefaction. Here was an unlooked-for complication. A new element had entered the controversy. The sheriff slid from his horse and gave a rude salute with his big brown fist.
"Howdy, ladies, howdy." It was plain he was deeply embarrassed by this turn of affairs.