"Stranger, I'd like a word with you."
Mose followed him to a corner, supposing him to be a man with mines to sell, or possibly a confidence man.
"Stranger, where you from?"
"From the Snake country," replied Mose.
"What's your little game here?"
Mose was angered at his tone. "None of your business."
The older man flushed, and the laugh went out of his eyes. "I'll make it my business," he said grimly. "I've seen you somewhere before, but I can't place you. You want to get out o' town to-night; you're here for no man's good—you've got a 'graft.'"
Mose struck him with the flat of his left hand, and, swift as a rattlesnake's stroke, covered him with his revolver. "Wait right where you are," he said, and the man became rigid. "I came here as peaceable as any man," Mose went on, "but I don't intend to be ridden out of town by a jackass like you."
The other man remained calm. "If you'll kindly let me unbutton my coat, I'll show you my star; I'm the city marshal."
"Be quiet," commanded Mose; "put up your hands!"