“No,” said Huston. “That’s what they want. No, sir. If they can git a fight goin’, then they can run in the cops an’ say we ain’t orderly. They tried it before—other places.” He turned to the sad dark boy from Unit Two. “Got the fellas together to go roun’ the fences an’ see nobody sneaks in?”
The sad boy nodded. “Yeah! Twelve. Tol’ ’em not to hit nobody. Jes’ push ’em out ag’in.” Huston said, “Will you go out an’ find Willie Eaton? He’s chairman a the entertainment, ain’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, tell ’im we wanta see ’im.” The boy went out, and he returned in a moment with a stringy Texas man. Willie Eaton had a long fragile jaw and dust-colored hair. His arms and legs were long and loose, and he had the gray sunburned eyes of the Panhandle. He stood in the tent, grinning, and his hands pivoted restlessly on his wrists.
Huston said, “You heard about tonight?” Willie grinned. “Yeah!”
“Did anything ’bout it?”
“Yeah!”
“Tell what you done.” Willie Eaton grinned happily. “Well, sir, ordinary ent’tainment committee is five. I got twenty more—all good strong boys. They’re a-gonna be a-dancin’ an’ a-keepin’ their eyes open an’ their ears open. First sign—any talk or argament, they close in tight. Worked her out purty nice. Can’t even see nothing. Kinda move out, an’ the fella will go out with ’em.”
“Tell ’em they ain’t to hurt the fellas.” Willie laughed gleefully. “I tol’ ’em,” he said. “Well tell ’em so they know.”
“They know. Got five men out to the gate lookin’ over the folks that comes in. Try to spot ’em ’fore they git started.” Huston stood up. His steel-colored eyes were stern. “Now you look here, Willie. We don’t want them fellas hurt. They’s gonna be deputies out by the front gate. If you blood ’em up, why—them deputies’ll git you.”