THE LAW.
I takes all the books and papers, and then I makes Cale get to his feet and go down ahead of me. Our bullets sure have carved our trade-marks in their furniture and walls. Willer Crick wails when they see me with their books.
“Good stuff!” grunts Hashknife. “Now, maybe they’ll sign my little paper.”
I never seen folks so anxious to sign anything. Hashknife held the paper on the brim of his hat so that Sim Sellers can sign. I unloads all them guns and then throws the whole works under the sidewalk, where nobody can get one quick.
“Rope the books together so we can carry ’em, Sleepy,” says Hashknife.
“Them is our records!” wails Sol.
“That’s why we need ’em,” grins Hashknife. “You and your council are the only ones what can read and write, and I’m thinkin’ that your law and records will make hy-iu readin’ for the county attorney.”
Willer Crick is stuck. They shuffles their feet and swallers hard.
“Your home-made law is a thing of the past,” observes Hashknife. “I’ll send the sheriff in here after Cale Ames, and mebbe Cale won’t be the only one he rounds up.”
I got the horses, while Hashknife holds the crowd. Hashknife takes Buddy with him, while I take the law of Willer Crick. We starts away, with the crowd watching us, but all to once they makes a dive across the street toward the hitch-rack. I thinks they’re going to try to foller us, but it comes to me in a flash that I seen two or three rifles hanging to those saddles.