"Hold on there! Nobody leaves without my permission." Then to Pete, "How is he?"
"He's cashed in, Sheriff. Plumb through the heart. Don't think I ever see neater work." He laid the body on its back and crossed the arms over the breast.
Hardy walked direct to Jim. "Jim Carston, hand over your gun."
"And who are you?" Jim asked, as he looked at the tall, bulky figure of Bud Hardy. He had forgotten that Bill, earlier in the afternoon, had pointed out this man to him, and warned him of his friendship with Cash Hawkins.
Gathered about Bud were Hawkins's faction, who resented the Englishman's presence among them, and with them several who, only a few hours ago, had been cheering Jim. Bud Hardy answered his question with tolerant amusement.
"The County Sheriff," he said.
To the surprise of all, Jim advanced and handed his gun to Bud.
"Come on, you're my prisoner." Even Bud felt that this was extremely difficult. No resistance from the prisoner—no denial! It was unusual. But as he stepped towards Jim he was stopped by Bill.
"Wait a minute, Bud; don't be in such a ferocious hurry. Where you goin' to take him to?"
Bill's heart beat fast, but he gave no sign of the fear that filled him. He knew what this might mean for the boss. The faces of the other men of Jim's ranch grew gray—they too realized, far more than Jim did, that it was not the justice of the law that was to be his, but—well, the crowds grew blood-thirsty sometimes in Maverick. They had seen sights that the boss had not—an ugly swinging vision passed before their eyes, but no hint was given of this by the men. Each one knew that it would be the most unwise move they could make for the boss's sake.