"Sit down, gentlemen," said the marshal, "and have some liquor."
After they were served and cigars lighted, the marshal began:
"Mose, I want you to serve as my deputy."
Mose was taken by surprise and did not speak for a few moments. The marshal went on:
"I don't know that you're after a job, but I'm sure I need you. There's no use hemming and hawing—I've made a cussed fool of myself this evenin', and the boys are just about going to drink up my salary for me this coming week. I can't afford not to have you my deputy because you unlimbered your gun a grain of a second before me—beat me at my own trick. I need you—now what do you say?"
Mose took time to reply. "I sure need a job for the winter," he admitted, "but I don't believe I want to do this."
The marshal urged him to accept. "I'll call in the newspaper men and let them tell the whole story of your life, and of our little jamboree to-day—they'll fix up a yarn that'll paralyze the hold-up gang. Together we'll swoop down on the town. I've been planning a clean-out for some weeks, and I need you to help me turn 'em loose."
Mose arose. "I guess not; I'm trying to keep clear of gun-play these days. I've never hunted that kind of thing, and I won't start in on a game that's sure to give me trouble."
The marshal argued. "Set down; listen; that's the point exactly. The minute the boys know who you are we won't need to shoot. That's the reason I want you—the reporters will prepare the way. Wherever we go the 'bad men' will scatter."