Turning to the sheriff, he said: "Sheriff Winters, this warrant is bogus—forged this morning by some one of your lynching-party; the ink is hardly dry. I decline to serve it," and he tore it into strips and flung it on the ground.
"Halt!" cried the oncoming commander, and with creak of saddle and diminishing thunder of hoofs the Gray Squadron stopped within fifty feet of the agency gate, and out of the dust a young lieutenant rode forward and saluted.
"Hold your position, Mr. Payne," commanded Maynard.
"I just love Captain Maynard!" said Jennie, fervently.
"I'll tell him," said Lawson.
"Now," said Maynard, "what's it all about? Nice gang, this!"
The mob that had been so loud of mouth now sat in silence as profound as if each man had been smitten dumb. It was easy to threaten and flourish pistols in the face of an Indian agent with a dozen women to protect, but this wall of Uncle Sam's blue was a different barrier—not to be lightly overleaped. The cowboys were not accustomed to facing such men as these when they shot up towns and raced the Tetongs across the hills.
"Now what is it all about?" repeated Maynard, composing his comedy face into a look of military sternness.
Curtis explained swiftly in a low voice, and ended by saying: "This is, in effect, a lynching-party on federal territory. What would you do in such a case?"
"Order them off, instanter!"