“You needn’t laugh!” replied Crawford, with a string of insulting oaths. “You’re a coward; and if you’re anything of a man you will step out of doors and have this out.”
“I am, as you say, a coward,” replied Thompson quietly, “and I see no reason for going out of doors to fight you or anybody else.”
After blustering and swearing for a few moments Crawford withdrew. He made no attempt to fight, nor do I 339 believe his outburst had any other purpose than to establish the purely personal character of the quarrel between Thompson and himself. At any rate, Thompson was next morning found murdered in his bunk, while Crawford had disappeared. I do not know whether Crawford had killed him or not; I think not.
About this time formal printed notices of some sort of election were posted on the bulletin board at Morton’s place. At least they were said to have been posted, and were pointed out to all comers the day after election. Perhaps they were there all the time, as claimed, but nobody paid much attention to them. At any rate, we one day awoke to the fact that we were a full-fledged community, with regularly constituted court officers, duly qualified officials, and a sheriff. The sheriff was Morton, and the most worthy judges were other members of his gang!
This move tickled Danny Randall’s sense of humour immensely.
“That’s good head work,” he said approvingly. “I didn’t think Morton had it in him.”
“It’s time something was done to run that gang out of town,” fumed Dr. Rankin.
“No; it is not time,” denied Danny, “any more than it was time when you and Johnny and the rest of you had your celebrated jury trial.”
“I’d like to know what you are driving at!” fretted the worthy doctor.
Danny Randall laughed in his gentle little fashion. I will confess that just at that time I was very decidedly wondering what Danny Randall was at. In fact, at 340 moments I was strongly inclined to doubt his affiliations. He seemed to stand in an absolutely neutral position, inclining to neither side.