"I tell you, my frien', you let heem go, she mak plenty trouble."
"We've got to risk that. Yuh can't murder a man, Telescope. Yuh just can't."
Laguerre shrugged expressive shoulders and said no more. It was Loudon's business. He was boss of the round-up.
"Yuh see how it is, Block," observed Loudon. "I can't down yuh now, but next time we meet it's shoot on sight. Next time yuh see Blakely tell him I expected to meet him here in Farewell. I don't guess he'll come now. Still, on the off chance that he does, me an' my friend will stay till sunset. Telescope, I feel sort o' empty. Guess I'll go in the back room an' rustle some chuck."
While Loudon and Laguerre were eating, the sheriff fainted. The strain of standing upright combined with the rough handling he had received had proved too much for him. Laguerre threw the contents of the water bucket over the sheriff.
When the sheriff recovered consciousness Loudon gave the nine citizens permission to sit on the floor. And they sat down stiffly.
Slowly the long hours passed. Occasionally Loudon walked to the door and looked up and down the street. Apparently Farewell dozed.
But it was far from being asleep. Here and there, leaning against the house walls in attitudes of ease, were men. These men were posted in pairs, and Loudon saw Mike Flynn stumping from one couple to another. One pair was posted across the street from the sheriff's shack. The first time Loudon appeared in the doorway these two nodded, and one waved his arm in friendly fashion. There were only twelve in all of these sentinels, but their positions had been chosen with strategic wisdom. Any attempt at a rescue would be disastrous to the rescuers.
"Well," said Loudon when the sun was near its setting, "we might as well be movin', Telescope."
"Mabbeso our hosses been rustle'," suggested Laguerre.