The Sheriff And His Partner | Page 5

as usual to the office. I may have been seated there about an hour--it was almost eight o'clock--when I heard a knock at the door.
"Come in," I said, swinging round in the American chair, to find myself face to face with Sheriff Johnson.
"Why, Sheriff, come in!" I exclaimed cheerfully, for I was relieved at seeing him, and so realized more clearly than ever that the unpleasantness of the previous evening had left in me a certain uneasiness. I was eager to show that the incident had no importance:
"Won't you take a seat? and you'll have a cigar?--these are not bad."
"No, thank you," he answered. "No, I guess I won't sit nor smoke jest now." After a pause, he added, "I see you're studyin'; p'r'aps you're busy to-day; I won't disturb you."
"You don't disturb me, Sheriff," I rejoined. "As for studying, there's not much in it. I seem to prefer dreaming."
"Wall," he said, letting his eyes range round the walls furnished with Law Reports bound in yellow calf, "I don't know, I guess there's a big lot of readin' to do before a man gets through with all those."
"Oh," I laughed, "the more I read the more clearly I see that law is only a sermon on various texts supplied by common sense."
"Wall," he went on slowly, coming a pace or two nearer and speaking with increased seriousness, "I reckon you've got all Locock's business to see after: his clients to talk to; letters to answer, and all that; and when he's on the drunk I guess he don't do much. I won't worry you any more."
"You don't worry me," I replied. "I've not had a letter to answer in three days, and not a soul comes here to talk about business or anything else. I sit and dream, and wish I had something to do out there in the sunshine. Your work is better than reading words, words--nothing but words."
"You ain't busy; hain't got anything to do here that might keep you? Nothin'?"
"Not a thing. I'm sick of Blackstone and all Commentaries."
Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder (moving half round in the chair, I had for the moment turned sideways to him), and his voice was surprisingly hard and quick:
"Then I swear you in as a Deputy-Sheriff of the United States, and of this State of Kansas; and I charge you to bring in and deliver at the Sheriff's house, in this county of Elwood, Tom Williams, alive or dead, and--there's your fee, five dollars and twenty-five cents!" and he laid the money on the table.
Before the singular speech was half ended I had swung round facing him, with a fairly accurate understanding of what he meant But the moment for decision had come with such sharp abruptness, that I still did not realize my position, though I replied defiantly as if accepting the charge:
"I've not got a weapon."
"The boys allowed you mightn't hev, and so I brought some along. You ken suit your hand." While speaking he produced two or three revolvers of different sizes, and laid them before me.
Dazed by the rapid progress of the plot, indignant, too, at the trick played upon me, I took up the nearest revolver and looked at it almost without seeing it. The Sheriff seemed to take my gaze for that of an expert's curiosity.
"It shoots true," he said meditatively, "plumb true; but it's too small to drop a man. I guess it wouldn't stop any one with grit in him."
My anger would not allow me to consider his advice; I thrust the weapon in my pocket:
"I haven't got a buggy. How am I to get to Osawotamie?"
"Mine's hitched up outside. You ken hev it."
Rising to my feet I said: "Then we can go."
We had nearly reached the door of the office, when the Sheriff stopped, turned his back upon the door, and looking straight into my eyes said:
"Don't play foolish. You've no call to go. Ef you're busy, ef you've got letters to write, anythin' to do--I'll tell the boys you sed so, and that'll be all; that'll let you out."
Half-humorously, as it seemed to me, he added: "You're young and a tenderfoot. You'd better stick to what you've begun upon. That's the way to do somethin'.--I often think it's the work chooses us, and we've just got to get down and do it."
"I've told you I had nothing to do," I retorted angrily; "that's the truth. Perhaps" (sarcastically) "this work chooses me."
The Sheriff moved away from the door.
On reaching the street I stopped for a moment in utter wonder. At that hour in the morning Washington Street was usually deserted, but now it seemed as if half the men in the town had taken up places round the entrance to Locock's office stairs. Some sat on barrels or