was all Irish that wasn't Texan, and all Texan that
wasn't Irish, and everybody he knew he either loved or hated, and was
ready, according to his feeling, either to do anything for, or to "do
up" on a moment's notice.

Emerson Mead's stronger and more sober intelligence harked back to New
England, whence his mother had come in her bridal days, and although
the Puritan characteristics showed less plainly in his nature than she
wished, having been much warmed and mellowed by their transplantation
to southern soil, no Puritan of them all could have outdone this tall
Texan in dogged adherence to what he believed to be his rights. His
mother had kept faith with the land of her nativity, and as part of
her worship from afar at the shrine of its great sage had given his
name to her only son. By virtue of his stronger character and better
poised intelligence, Emerson Mead had always been the leader of the
three friends. Tuttle yielded unquestioning obedience to "Emerson's
judgment," and, if Emerson were not present, to what he imagined that
judgment would be. Ellhorn, in whose nature dwelt the instinctive
rebellion of the Irish blood, was less loyal in this respect, but not
a whit behind in the whole-heartedness with which he threw himself
into his friend's service. For years they had taken share and share
alike in one another's needs, and whenever one was in trouble the
other two rushed to his help. Together they had gone through the usual
routine of southwestern occupations. They had prospected together, had
herded cattle together, together they had battled their way through
sudden quarrels and fore-planned gunfights, and together, with
official warrants in their pockets, had helped to keep the peace in
riotous frontier towns. Some years before, they had gone into
partnership in the cattle business, on the ranch which Mead still
owned. But Tuttle and Ellhorn had tired of it, had sold their interest
to Mead, and ever since, as deputy United States marshals, had upheld
the arm of the law in its contests with the "bad men" of the frontier.
All three men were known far and wide for the marvelous quickness and
accuracy with which they could handle their guns.

Main street was lined, in the vicinity of the two saloons, with knots
of men who talked in excited, repressed tones, as though they feared
to be overheard. These knots constantly broke up and reformed as men
hurried from one to another, but there was no crossing the street