ing an
incident of that kind was related by a noted Western sheriff.

"Down on the edge of the Pecos valley," said he, "a dozen miles below
old Fort Sumner, there used to be a little saloon, and I once captured a
man there. He came in from somewhere east of our territory, and was
wanted for murder. The reward offered for him was twelve hundred
dollars. Since he was a stranger, none of us knew him, but the sheriff's
descriptions sent in said he had a freckled face, small hands, and a red
spot in one eye. I heard that there was a new saloon-keeper in there,
and thought he might be the man, so I took a deputy and went down one
day to see about it.

"I told my deputy not to shoot until he saw me go after my gun. I didn't
want to hold the man up unless he was the right one, and I wanted to be
sure about that identification mark in the eye. Now, when a bartender is
waiting on you, he will never look you in the face until just as you
raise your glass to drink. I told my deputy that we would order a couple
of drinks, and so get a chance to look this fellow in the eye. When he
looked up, I did look him in the eye, and there was the red spot!

"I dropped my glass and jerked my gun and covered him, but he just
wouldn't put up his hands for a while. I didn't want to kill him, but I
thought I surely would have to. He kept both of his hands resting on the
bar, and I knew he had a gun within three feet of him somewhere. At last
slowly he gave in. I treated him well, as I always did a prisoner, told
him we would square it if we had made any mistake. We put irons on him
and started for Las Vegas with him in a wagon. The next morning, out on
the trail, he confessed everything to me. We turned him over, and later
he was tried and hung. I always considered him to be a pretty bad man.
So far as the result was concerned, he might about as well have gone
after his gun. I certainly thought that was what he was going to do. He
had sand. I could just see him stand there and balance the chances in
his mind.

"Another of the nerviest men I ever ran up against," the same officer
went on, reflectively, "I met when I was sheriff of Dona Ana county, New
Mexico. I was in Las Cruces, when there came in a sheriff from over in
the Indian Nations looking for a fugitive who had broken out of a
penitentiary after killing a guard and another man or so. This sheriff
told me that the criminal in question was the most desperate man he had
ever known, and tha