Stewart stepped forward and, thrusting Don Carlos aside, he called, “Make way, there!”
The crowd fell back to the tramp of heavy boots. Cowboys appeared staggering out of the corridor with long boxes. These they placed side by side upon the floor of the porch.
“Now, Hawe, we’ll proceed with our business,” said Stewart. “You see these boxes, don’t you?”
“I reckon I see a good many things round hyar,” replied Hawe, meaningly.
“Well, do you intend to open these boxes upon my say-so?”
“No!” retorted Hawe. “It’s not my place to meddle with property as come by express an’ all accounted fer regular.”
“You call yourself a sheriff!” exclaimed Stewart, scornfully.
“Mebbe you’ll think so before long,” rejoined Hawe, sullenly.
“I’ll open them. Here, one of you boys, knock the tops off these boxes,” ordered Stewart. “No, not you, Monty. You use your eyes. Let Booly handle the ax. Rustle, now!”
Monty Price had jumped out of the crowd into the middle of the porch. The manner in which he gave way to Booly and faced the vaqueros was not significant of friendliness or trust.