“It’s ‘Fighting Dan’ Grey!” gasped the crowd, as it scurried for quarters beyond the line of the big guns, which they felt sure were soon to be in action.
The officers shrank, too, and reached for their own guns in a half-hearted way.
Big Fighting Dan disdained the motion to draw on him, except to roar:
“Keep yer pepper boxes under yer co’t tails, officers, er it’ll be bad fer yer digestion.
“An’ so yo’re it! hey?” he boomed again.
“Waal, yo’re in ther han’s o’ ther law, jes’ now, an’ old Dan respects ther law, but Heaven hev mercy on yore pesky hide if I ever set my eyes onto yuh outside o’ ther clutches o’ ther sheriff an’ his men.”
Shoving his guns into his belt, the dark man continued:
“But I’m hyar an’ yo’re hyar, so now’s ther time ter pay my complerments—an’ thar yew hev um!”
He had suddenly reached forward, and, before the officers could protest or others divine his intention, he had grasped Red Dick by the chin with one hand and by the curling red hair with the other, and tipped the prisoner’s head far back. Then an amber stream left Dan’s dark lips, and Red Dick’s face ran with tobacco juice as he was released, a spluttering, raving, helpless wretch, while Fighting Dan turned away, swung into his saddle, and with a few parting shots dashed down the street and disappeared.
Taking advantage of the dazed condition of the crowd, the officers hurried their prisoners into the hotel.