“Yes. I shall resist capture by him; but I heard that the civil law would be suspended in this district, and if that has been done, I will give myself up to you.”
Cheyne nodded again. “Give one of the boys your rifle, and step back with Mrs. Grant in the meanwhile. You are on parole.”
He said something sharply, and there was a trample of hoofs and jingle of steel as the troopers swung into changed formation. They sat still as the cattle-men rode up, and when Clavering reined his horse in a few lengths away from them Cheyne acknowledged his salute.
“We have come after a notorious disturber of this district who has, I notice, taken refuge with you,” he said. “I must ask you to give him up.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cheyne firmly. “It can’t be done just yet.”
Clavering glanced at the men behind him—and there were a good many of them, all without fear, and irresponsible; then he looked at the little handful of troopers, and Cheyne’s face hardened as he saw the insolent significance of his glance.
“Hadn’t you better think it over? The boys are a little difficult to hold in hand, and we can’t go back without our man,” he said.
Cheyne eyed him steadily. “Mr. Grant has given himself up to me. If there is any charge against him it shall be gone into. In the meanwhile, draw your men off and dismount if you wish to talk to me.”
Clavering sat perfectly still, with an ironical smile on his lips. “Be wise, and don’t thrust yourself into this affair, which does not concern you, or you may regret it,” he said. “Here is a gentleman who will convince you.”
He backed his horse as another man rode forward and with an assumption of importance addressed Cheyne. “Now,” he said, “we don’t want any unpleasantness, but I have come for the person of Larry Grant, and I mean to take him.”