erbrush. Looking down upon them, it was
impossible to distinguish their faces, but two among them, at least,
carried firearms. Mason stepped up on to the ore-dump where he could
see better, and watched their movements closely.

"Hi, there!" he called, his voice harsh and strident. "You fellers are
not invited to this picnic, an' there'll be somethin' doin' if you push
along any higher."

The little bunch halted instantly just without the edge of the heavy
timber, turning their faces up toward the speaker. Evidently they
expected to be hailed, but not quite so soon.

"Now, see here, Buck," answered one, taking a single step ahead of the
others, and hollowing his hand as a trumpet to speak through, "it don't
look to us fellers as if this affair was any of your funeral, nohow,
and we 've come 'long ahead of the others just on purpose to give you a
fair show to pull out of it afore the real trouble begins. _Sabe_?"

"Is thet so?"

The little marshal was too far away for them to perceive how his teeth
set beneath the bristly mustache.

"You bet! The boys don't consider thet it's hardly the square deal
your takin' up agin 'em in this way. They 'lected you marshal of this
yere camp, but it war n't expected you'd ever take no sides 'long with
murderers. Thet's too stiff fer us to abide by. So come on down,
Buck, an' leave us to attend to the cuss."

"If you mean Hampton, he's my prisoner. Will you promise to let me
take him down to Cheyenne fer trial?"

"Wal, I reckon not, old man. We kin give him a trial well 'nough right
here in Glencaid," roared another voice from out the group, which was
apparently growing restless over the delay. "But we ain't inclined to
do you no harm onless ye ram in too far. So come on down, Buck, throw
up yer cards; we've got all the aces, an' ye can't bluff this whole
darn camp."

Mason spat into the dump contemptuously, his hands thrust into his
pockets. "You 're a fine-lookin' lot o' law-abidin' citizens, you are!
Blamed if you ain't. Why, I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers fer the
whole kit and caboodle of ye, you low-down, sneakin' parcel o' thieves.
Ye say it wus yer votes whut made me marshal o' this camp. Well, I
reckon they did, an' I reckon likewise I know 'bout whut my duty under
the law is, an' I'm a-goin' to do it. If you fellers thought ye
'lected a chump, this is the time you git left. This yere man, Bob
Hampton, is my prisoner, an' I'll take him to Cheyen