owed, this would seem to have been clearly
a recent performance of the previous speaker, who, however, responded
quite cheerfully:

"An evenin' o' simple, childish gaiety don't count. We've got to start
in again FAIR. What we want here is to clear up and encourage decent
immigration, and get rid o' gamblers and blatherskites that are makin'
this yer camp their happy hunting-ground. We don't want any more
permiskus shootin'. We don't want any more paintin' the town red. We
don't want any more swaggerin' galoots ridin' up to this grocery and
emptyin' their six-shooters in the air afore they 'light. We want to put
a stop to it peacefully and without a row--and we kin. We ain't got no
bullies of our own to fight back, and they know it, so they know they
won't get no credit bullyin' us; they'll leave, if we're only firm. It's
all along of our cussed fool good-nature; they see it amuses us, and
they'll keep it up as long as the whisky's free. What we want to do is,
when the next man comes waltzin' along--"

A distant clatter from the rocky hillside here mingled with the puff of
damp air through the window.

"Looks as ef we might hev a show even now," said Tom Rollins, removing
his feet from the stove as we all instinctively faced toward the window.

"I reckon you're in with us in this, Mosby?" said Briggs, turning toward
the proprietor of the grocery, who had been leaning listlessly against
the wall behind his bar.

"Arter the man's had a fair show," said Mosby, cautiously. He deprecated
the prevailing condition of things, but it was still an open question
whether the families would prove as valuable customers as his present
clients. "Everything in moderation, gentlemen."

The sound of galloping hoofs came nearer, now swishing in the soft mud
of the highway, until the unseen rider pulled up before the door. There
was no shouting, however, nor did he announce himself with the usual
salvo of firearms. But when, after a singularly heavy tread and the
jingle of spurs on the platform, the door flew open to the newcomer,
he seemed a realization of our worst expectations. Tall, broad, and
muscular, he carried in one hand a shotgun, while from his hip dangled
a heavy navy revolver. His long hair, unkempt but oiled, swept a greasy
circle around his shoulders; his enormous mustache, dripping with wet,
completely concealed his mouth. His costume of fringed buckskin was wild
and outre even for our frontier camp. But what was more c