Emersons Wife and Other Western Stories | Page 8

here and guard the place till
they see they 'll starve to death if they don't give up."
Mead turned upon him a look of supreme astonishment. "It's your fight,
Tom," he answered coolly, "and if you-all think that's the best way of
fightin' it, I 'll stand by and help as long as I 'm needed. But I did n't
come up here expectin' to take part in any cold-feet show!"
Tuttle wiped his face vigorously and did not answer. "I think there's
only one thing to do," Mead went on, "and that is to rush 'em and make
'em show their hand!"
Tuttle shook his head. "No, no," he exclaimed hurriedly, "that wouldn't

do at all, Emerson!"
Mead left him and, keeping the front of the house in the tail of his eye,
hurried across the yard to Ellhorn. "Nick," he demanded, "what's the
matter with Tommy? Does he want to take these Greasers or not?"
"Well, Emerson," said Nick hesitatingly, "I sure reckon the truth is that
he's afraid you 'll get hurt!"
The ruddy tan of Mead's face deepened to purple, and a yellow light
blazed in his brown eyes. He strode back to where Tuttle had resumed
his post, his fist shot out, and Tom went staggering backward. "So
you-all think I 'm a coward, do you?" he shouted. Then, wheeling, with
a revolver in each hand, he rushed toward the front door. Nick saw
what he purposed to do, and dashed after him with a wild
"Whoo-oo-ee!"
Tuttle was left without support. For a moment he was so dazed by
Mead's blow that he stared about him bewilderedly. The men inside the
house were quick to take advantage of so unexpected a situation. The
windows flashed fire and Tom heard the thud of bullets against the
ground at his feet. One bit his cheek. With loud and angry oaths he
dropped to one knee, rifle in hand, and sent bullets and insults hurtling
together through the crashing windows. Springing to his feet he ran a
few steps forward, dropped to his knee again, and with bullets pattering
all around him emptied the magazine of his rifle.
Mead and Ellhorn were trying to batter down the door, but it was
strongly built and had not yielded to their shoulders. Throwing down
his empty rifle, Tuttle ran into the portal, thrust Ellhorn to one side as if
he had been a boy, and lunged against the door with all his ox-like
weight. Mead threw himself against it at the same instant, and it
cracked, split, and flew into splinters.
The three big Texans, each with a revolver in either hand, surged
through the opening. The Mexicans met them in mid-floor, and the
room was full of the whirr of flying bullets, the thud of bullets against
the walls, the spat of bullets upon human flesh. The officers rushed

forward, their guns blazing streams of fire, and Dysert and his men
backed toward the corner. Mead emptied both of his revolvers and,
pressing the leader closely, raised one of them to batter him over the
head. Dysert threw up his hands, exclaiming, "We give up!" and the
battle was over.
On the floor were the bodies of four Mexicans, either dead or badly
wounded. Dysert and three of his followers were still alive, although
each had been hurt. Tuttle, besides the gash in his cheek, had a bullet in
his left arm, and Ellhorn a wound in his thigh. Mead's hat and clothing
had been pierced, but his body was untouched.
They sent for physicians to attend to the wounded Mexicans and,
having handcuffed their prisoners, hurried them to the jail. As Simmons
led the men from the sheriff's office and the three friends were left
alone, Mead turned to Tuttle.
"Tom," he said, "I 'm sure sorry I struck you just now. I was so mad I
hardly knew what I was doing. You 'd been acting queer, and when I
found it was because you thought I was afraid, I just boiled over. I had
no business to do it, Tom, and I 'm sorry."
The red of Tom's face went a shade deeper, and he fidgeted uneasily.
"No, Emerson, you 're wrong," he protested. "I did n't think you was
afraid. You-all ought to know better than that. But--well--the truth is,
Emerson, I could n't help thinkin' what hard lines it would be for Mrs.
Emerson if anything--should happen to you."
The tears came into Mead's eyes, and he turned away as Tuttle went on:
"I told Nick not to send for you, but the darned kiote went and done it
without me knowing it!"
"No, I didn't," Nick exclaimed. "I just told him we was in a hole and I
was drunk! And, anyway, it's