LET 'ER BUCK 



prisoners first in the city lock-up, afterwards smug- 

 gling them into the county jail. 



That five desperadoes could be captured at different 

 points in the same day without the firing of a single 

 shot, seemed unbelievable to the citizens of a region 

 where, throughout its pioneer history, the revolver had 

 been, and in some parts still is, regarded as a man's 

 best friend. When, however, the realization was 

 borne in upon them, that only a meager wall screened 

 from them the men responsible for the killing of Til 

 Taylor, the crowd about the courthouse was augment- 

 ed. As the evening wore on, the tense atmosphere in- 

 dicated that a break was inevitable. 



Milling about the courthouse, a salient of the black 

 mass finally surged inside and packed the hall about 

 the office where the life of their well-beloved friend 

 and sheriff, less than a scant week before, had been 

 snuffed out. Here was no doubt of the guilty and 

 their accomplices. Men's hearts burned within them 

 and their souls surged with intense resentment. Law, 

 justice, yes, and that inherent man-thirst, revenge, 

 seemed to them best served by summary punishment. 

 Outside there was an ominous murmur from the con- 

 stantly swelling ranks of determined men. 



Then above them in the open door of the courthouse 

 appeared a figure with bared head and in shirt sleeves. 

 It was the newly appointed sheriff. Beside him stood 

 a guard with carbine in hand. 



"Boys, if Til were alive," the gleam of the street- 

 lamps reflected in the moist glisten in his eyes, "he 

 would want you to let the law take its course. You 

 who are friends of Til, I ask you to do as he would 

 wish if he were alive. Rest assured justice will be 

 done." 



56 



