detour.

The first volley broke the lock of one of Calliope's guns, cut a neat
underbit in his right ear, and exploded a cartridge in his crossbelt,
scorching his ribs as it burst. Feeling braced up by this unexpected
tonic to his spiritual depression, Calliope executed a fortissimo note
from his upper register, and returned the fire like an echo. The
upholders of the law dodged at his flash, but a trifle too late to
save one of the deputies a bullet just above the elbow, and the
marshal a bleeding cheek from a splinter that a ball tore from the box
he had ducked behind.

And now Calliope met the enemy's tactics in kind. Choosing with a
rapid eye the street from which the weakest and least accurate fire
had come, he invaded it at a double-quick, abandoning the unprotected
middle of the street. With rare cunning the opposing force in that
direction--one of the deputies and two of the valorous volunteers--
waited, concealed by beer barrels, until Calliope had passed their
retreat, and then peppered him from the rear. In another moment they
were reinforced by the marshal and his other men, and then Calliope
felt that in order to successfully prolong the delights of the
controversy he must find some means of reducing the great odds against
him. His eye fell upon a structure that seemed to hold out this
promise, providing he could reach it.

Not far away was the little railroad station, its building a strong
box house, ten by twenty feet, resting upon a platform four feet above
ground. Windows were in each of its walls. Something like a fort it
might become to a man thus sorely pressed by superior numbers.

Calliope made a bold and rapid spurt for it, the marshal's crowd
"smoking" him as he ran. He reached the haven in safety, the station
agent leaving the building by a window, like a flying squirrel, as the
garrison entered the door.

Patterson and his supporters halted under protection of a pile of
lumber and held consultations. In the station was an unterrified
desperado who was an excellent shot and carried an abundance of
ammunition. For thirty yards on either side of the besieged was a
stretch of bare, open ground. It was a sure thing that the man who
attempted to enter that unprotected area would be stopped by one of
Calliope's bullets.

The city marshal was resolved. He had decided that Calliope Catesby
should no more wake the echoes of Quicksand with his strident whoop.
He had so announced. Officially and p