ennui. He did not dream
that he was doing something epochal.

Blackman, Justice of the Peace, was sitting in the office of the
_Golden Age_ when we found him, reading the exchanges and offering
gratuitous advice to the editor. He was a shortish man, thick in body,
with sparse hair and hay-colored, ragged mustache. His face was
florid, his pale eyes protruded. He was a wise-looking man,
excellently well suited in appearance for the office which he filled.
We explained to him our errand. Gradually, as the sense of his own new
importance dawned upon him, he began to swell, apparently until he
assumed a bulk thrice that which he formerly possessed. His spine
straightened rigidly; a solemn light came into his eye; a cough that
fairly choked with wisdom echoed from his throat. It was a great day
for Blackman, J. P.

"Do I know this man, this cow puncher?" said he. "Of course I know
him, damn him, and I know what he done, too. Such a high-handed act
never ought to be tolerated, sir! Destroyin' property--why,
a-destroyin' of life _and_ property, for he killed the pig--and this
new family of citizens dependin' in part on the pig fer their
sustenances this comin' season; to say nothin' of his nigh shootin' me
up as I was crossin' the street from the post-office! Try him! Why,
of _course_ we ought to try him. What show have we got if we go on
this lawless way? What injucement can we offer Eastern Capital to
settle in our midst if, instead of bein' quiet and law-abidin', we go
on a-rarin' and a-pitchin' and a-runnin' wide open, every man for
hisself? What are we here for, you, and you, and me, if it ain't to
set in trile over such britches of the peace?"

"You're in," said Dan Anderson, succinctly. "Get over to your 'dobe.
We'll hold this trial right away. I reckon all the boys'll know about
it by this time. I'll go over and get the prisoner. But, hold on! He
ain't arrested yet. Who'll serve the warrant? Ben Stillson (the
sheriff) is down on the Hondo, and his deputy, Poe, is out of town.
There ain't a soul here to serve a paper. Looks like the court was
some rusty, don't it?"

"Warrant!" said the Justice, "warrant! You don't need no warrant.
Wasn't he seen a-doin' the act?"

"Oh, but it wasn't a real first-class felony," demurred Dan, with some
shade of conscience left.

"Well, I'll arrest him myself," said the Justice. "He's got to be
brought to trile."

"Well, now," I ventured to suggest, "tha