The Sheriff And His Partner | Page 6

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 boxes tipped
up against the shop-front (the next store was kept by a German, who
sold fruit and eatables); others stood about in groups or singly; a few
were seated on the edge of the side-walk, with their feet in the dust of
the street. Right before me and most conspicuous was the gigantic
figure of Martin. He was sitting on a small barrel in front of the
Sheriff's buggy.
"Good morning," I said in the air, but no one answered me. Mastering
my irritation, I went forward to undo the hitching-strap, but Martin,

divining my intention, rose and loosened the buckle. As I reached him,
he spoke in a low whisper, keeping his back turned to me:
"Shoot off a joke quick. The boys'll let up on you then. It'll be all right.
Say something for God's sake!"
The rough sympathy did me good, relaxed the tightness round my heart;
the resentment natural to one entrapped left me, and some of my
self-confidence returned:
"I never felt less like joking in my life, Martin, and humour can't be
produced to order."
He fastened up the hitching-strap, while I gathered the reins together
and got into the buggy. When I was fairly seated he stepped to the side
of the open vehicle, and, holding out his hand, said, "Good day,"
adding, as our hands clasped, "Wade in, young un; wade in."
"Good day, Martin. Good day, Sheriff. Good day, boys!"
To my surprise there came a chorus of answering "Good days!" as I
drove up the street.
A few hundred yards I went, and then wheeled to the right past the post
office, and so on for a quarter of a mile, till I reached the descent from
the higher ground, on which the town was built, to the river. There, on
my left, on the verge of the slope, stood the Sheriffs house in a lot by
itself, with the long, low jail attached to it. Down the hill I went, and
across the bridge and out into the open country. I drove rapidly for
about five miles--more than halfway to Osawotamie--and then I pulled
up, in order to think quietly and make up my mind.
I grasped the situation now in all its details. Courage was the one virtue
which these men understood, the only one upon which they prided
themselves. I, a stranger, a "tenderfoot," had questioned the courage of
the boldest among them, and this mission was their answer to my
insolence. The "boys" had planned the plot; Johnson was not to blame;
clearly he wanted to let me out of it; he would have been satisfied there

in the office if I had said that I was busy; he did not like to put his work
on any one else. And yet he must profit by my going. Were I killed, the
whole country would rise against Williams; whereas if I shot Williams,
the Sheriff would be relieved of the task. I wondered whether the fact
of his having married made any difference to the Sheriff. Possibly--and
yet it was not the Sheriff; it was the "boys" who had insisted on giving
me the lesson. Public opinion was dead against me. "I had come into a
game where I was not wanted, and I had never even paid the ante"--that
was Morris's phrase. Of course it was all clear now. I had never given
any proof of courage, as most likely all the rest had at some time or
other. That was the ante Morris meant....
My wilfulness had got me into the scrape; I had only myself to thank.
Not alone the Sheriff but Martin would have saved me had I profited by
the door of escape which he had tried to open for me. Neither of them
wished to push the malice to the point of making me assume the
Sheriff's risk, and Martin at least, and probably the Sheriff also, had
taken my quick, half-unconscious words and acts as evidence of
reckless determination. If I intended to live in the West I must go
through with the matter.
But what nonsense it all was! Why should I chuck away my life in the
attempt to bring a desperate ruffian to justice? And who could