ey?"

"Keep them quiet," said Mose, still menacing the officer.

"Boys, keep back," pleaded the marshal.

"The man that starts this ball rolling will be sorry," said Mose,
searching the crowd with sinister eyes. "If you're the marshal, order
these men back to the other end of the room."

"Boys, get back," commanded the marshal. With shuffling feet the crowd
retreated. "Shut the door, somebody, and keep the crowd out."

The doors were shut, and the room became as silent as a tomb.

"Now," said Mose, "is it war or peace?"

"Peace," said the marshal.

"All right." Mose dropped the point of his revolver.

The marshal breathed easier. "Stranger, you're a little the swiftest man
I've met since harvest; would you mind telling me your name?"

"Not a bit. My friends call me Mose Harding."

"'Black Mose'!" exclaimed the marshal, and a mutter of low words and a
laugh broke from the listening crowd. Haney reached out his hand. "I
hope you won't lay it up against me." Mose shook his hand and the
marshal went on: "To tell the honest truth, I thought you were one of
Lightfoot's gang. I couldn't place you. Of course I see now--I have your
picture at the office--the drinks are on me." He turned with a smile to
the crowd: "Come, boys--irrigate and get done with it. It's a horse on
me, sure."

Taking the mildest liquor at the bar, Mose drank to further friendly
relations, while the marshal continued to apologize. "You see, we've
been overrun with 'rollers' and 'skin-game' men, and lately three
expresses have been held up by Lightfoot's gang, and so I've been facing
up every suspicious immigrant. I've had to do it--in your case I was too
brash--I'll admit that--but come, let's get away from the mob. Come over
to my office, I want to talk with you."

Mose was glad to escape the curious eyes of the throng. While his life
was in the balance, he saw and heard everything hostile, nothing
more--now, he perceived the crowd to be disgustingly inquisitive. Their
winks, and grins, and muttered words annoyed him.

"Open the door--much obliged, Kelly," said the marshal to the man who
kept the door. Kelly was a powerfully built man, dressed like a miner,
in broad hat, loose gray shirt, and laced boots, and Mose admiringly
studied him.

"This is not 'Rocky Mountain Kelly'?" he asked.

Kelly smiled. "The same; 'Old Man Kelly' they call me now."

Mose put out his hand. "I'm glad to know ye. I've heard Tom Gavin speak
of you."

Kelly