There was a little laughter, which had, however, a trace of grimness in it, and one of the men grasped the constable's shoulder.
"Hadn't you better go round and run Jean Frenchy's hogs out of your citron patch?" he said.
For a moment the constable appeared about to go, and then his face expanded into a genial grin.
"That's not good enough, boys," he said. "I'm not quite so fresh that the cows would eat me. What've you come round here for, anyway?"
The man who had spoken made a little gesture of resignation. "Well," he said, "if you have got to know, we are going in to see if Slocum has left any of the dollars he beat us out of behind him."
"No," said the constable, stoutly. "Nobody's going in there without a warrant, unless it's me."
There was a little murmur. The man was elderly, and a trifle infirm, which was partly why it had been decided that he was most likely to find a use for the provincial pay, but he turned upon the threshold and faced the crowd resolutely. Had he been younger, it is very probable that he would have been hustled away, but a Western mob is usually, to some extent, at least, chivalrous, and there was another murmur of protest.
"Go home!" said one man. "They're not your dollars, anyway."
"Boys," and the old man swung an arm aloft, "I'm here, and I'm going to make considerable trouble for the man who lays a hand on me. This is a law-abiding country, and Slocum wasn't fool enough to leave anything he could carry off."
"We don't want to hurt you," said one of the assembly, "but we're going in."