outlaws in order to "show up"
Johnny Behan, who--so men said--was unwilling to arrest any of the
cow-boy faction. The grand jury was in session; they got Kettle-Belly
Johnson sober enough to face star-chamber inquisition and led him to
the court-house in the morning.

So it came that young Billy Breckenbridge, whose business was serving
warrants and not bothering over the whys and wherefores of their
issuance, knocked at the door of John Ringo's cabin in Galeyville a
few days later; and then, being a prudent man, stepped to one side
where he would be beyond the zone of fire.

"Got a warrant for you," he announced when the desperado had demanded
to know who was there. "Highway robbery."

There was a bit of parleying through the closed door and finally--

"Man by the name of Johnson is the complaining witness," young
Breckenbridge elucidated. "According to what I hear, the play came up
along of a poker game."

John Ringo swore lightly.

"Come in," he bade the deputy. "I'll get my clothes on in a minute."

He laughed sourly as he was pulling on his boots some moments later.

"Looks as if the grand jury's hard up for something to do," he
observed.

He rose and belted on his gun, a proceeding about which his
custodian, being unburdened with any desire to burn powder over such
hair-splitting technicalities as a man's right to wear weapons on
his way to jail, made no comment.

"We'll go down the street," the prisoner suggested as they were
leaving the cabin, "and I'll fix it up to get bail."

But the accommodating cattle-buyer who arranged such matters for the
bigger outlaws was out of town and would not be back until evening.
Breckenbridge's horse was jaded, and if he wanted to reach Tombstone
in good time he should be setting forth at once.

"You go ahead," John Ringo bade him. "I'll catch up with you before
you pass Sulphur Springs ranch."

Those were queer days, and if you judge things from our twentieth-century
point of view you will probably find yourself bewildered.

John Ringo was known to be a cattle-rustler, stage-robber, and--according
to the law--a murderer. And Breckenbridge, whose duty it was to enforce
the statutes, set out for the county seat alone on the strength of
that promise. Nor was he in the least surprised when his prisoner, who
had ridden all night to make good his word, overtook him in the middle of
the valley.

Queer days indeed! And the threads of some men's lives were sadly
tang