In fact, Easton and Blue had dwelt long upon the graveyard question, and there were some in the posse in whose minds this was of more interest than kidnaping and murder. Considerable liquor had also added to the general ill-feeling.
The Tombstone ranch-house door was closed, and there was no sign of life about the place. Blue detailed twelve men to circle the place and stop any chance of escape, while the rest of them, confident in their might, rode straight to the porch. Nearly every man held a rifle in his hands, ready for action, while Jake Blue swung onto the porch and approached the door.
Doc Clevis, Spot Easton and Blondy Hagen were in the main body of the mob, as were also Dell Blackwood and two of the boys from the 88. Blackwood’s horse was at the extreme outer edge of the crowd, and Blackwood’s eyes shifted around as he considered the safest way out. He knew Hashknife Hartley.
“Inside there!” yelled Blue, knocking on the door with the barrel of his rifle.
“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Blue!” exclaimed Hashknife’s voice. “Ain’tcha never goin’ to have any sense, sheriff?”
“What do you mean?” roared Blue nervously. He did not trust Hashknife.
“Look at them four wires which runs across the porch, will you?”
Blue glanced down at the small copper wires and his eyes traveled their length. The rest of the crowd took them into consideration. A horse was standing with both front feet on one of the mounds, and its rider yanked back on the reins, half-swinging the horse around.
“We was expectin’ you,” stated Hashknife, “and we got all set. Now, everybody hold quiet or my pardner will slam on the battery. You came down here to kill us and, if we’ve got to pass out, we’ll take a lot of company.”
He opened the door and came out on the porch. The assembled company relaxed. They felt they were sitting over a volcano; and men do not argue in a case of that kind.