and snaky black hair which suggested mixed blood. The newcomer made a quick decision.
'Sorry if I'm hornin' in, gents, but I hear yo're needin' a marshal,' he said quietly.
For a moment the only reply he received was a scowl from Mullins; the others were studying him with surprised curiosity. Nippert unconsciously betrayed his thought with a shake of the head.
'It's a risky job,' he pointed out. 'Unless you can handle yore hardware above the average. . . .'
'I don't go much on gun-play,' was the reply. 'I'm what yu might call a methodis' an' ' A guffaw of mirth from Jake cut him short. 'A psalm singer, huh?' he sneered. 'Prayer an' fastin' won't land you nowhere in this man's town, brother, 'cept mebbe the cemet'ry.' The grey-blue eyes behind the goggles surveyed him sardonically. 'Yu got me wrong. I'm not strong on religion, but I have my own ideas o' dealin' with trouble; shootin' ain't allus the best way.' Distant high-pitched yells, punctuated by the cracking of pistol-fire, interrupted the conversation. Away down the trail they could see a billowing cloud of dust in which moved the indistinct forms of scampering horsemen.
'Some o' the Bar O boys, an' by the look of 'em they're aimin' to stand the town on its ear, as usual,' Nippert said. 'What's yore notion o' tacklin' the situation, Jake?'
'Hold 'em up an' perforate the first one what pulls a trigger.' The saloon-keeper frowned. 'They're good spenders an' pay for any damage they does,' he objected.
'Mebbe this fella has a better plan,' Jake jeered, with a jerk of the thumb at his rival. 'Good chance to try out his methody ideas; if he can make the Bar O see the light without a ruckus I'll throw in my hand.' Nippert looked at the stranger. 'That's fair enough.'
'Suits me,' was the reply. 'Wipin' out customers is shorely pore policy.' He stepped into the street and went to meet the advancing riders, who, shooting, shouting, and spurring their ponies, bore down upon him like a human avalanche. When they were but a few yards distant he raised his right hand, palm downwards, the Indian sign of peaceful intention. To avoid running him down--for he was directly in their path--the cowboys, with a chorus of oaths, pulled their mounts to a slithering stop, and the leader, a sandy-haired youth, regarded him darkly.
'What's the giddy game, stickin' us up thisaway?' he demanded.
The man on foot studied them for a moment. They werefive in number, all young, reckless, and ready for any devil- ment, but, he decided, not evil. His answer took the form of a question :
'Yu happen to know Widow Gray?'
'Shore, her man let his bronc throw him a piece ago. Pore luck for her, though mebbe--well, he didn't amount to much anyways. What of it?'
'She's sick an'--expectin',' the stranger explained. 'I don't savvy much about it, but I reckon a racket can't help a woman none at them times. I figured yu'd like to know.'
'Is that the straight goods?' Red-head asked.
'I'm stayin' in town,' was the meaning reply.
'I take that back,' the cowboy said, and thrust his gun into his belt. 'Friend, we're shore obliged. Widow Gray is one nice woman, an' we ain't savages.' He looked at his followers. 'Boys, the jamboree is in the discard for this trip.'
'That goes, Reddy,' they chorused, and pistols were promptly replaced.
'This is one time Welcome is lucky two ways--she gains a citizen an' don't risk losin' any,' Reddy remarked, and grinned at the man who had put a stop to their pleasure. 'What about takin' a snort with us an' gittin' acquainted?'
'I'll be glad--presently,' was the reply. 'Got a li'l business to settle first.'
'So've we,' Reddy smiled. 'Allus begin with our buyin', 'case we don't have any coin left later.' They got down at the store and the peace-maker rejoined the party on the veranda, who had watched the scene wonderingly. Unable to hear the conversation, and knowing the Bar O outfit, it seemed little short of a miracle.
Nippert was the first to speak.
'Well, friend, I dunno how you worked it, but you must shorely have a medicine tongue.'
'Why, there's no mystery,' was the quiet reply. 'I just told 'em that Widow Gray is sick, an' liable to add to the population o' Welcome any time.'
'Hell!' Jake said disgustedly. 'Anybody could 'a' done that.'
'Yeah, anybody could 'a' discovered America, but Columbus did it,' Nippert retorted. 'Stranger, I like yore method, an' you win.' He fumbled in a pocket, produced a nickel star, and proffered it to the new officer. 'Jake, you'll have to wait till there's another vacancy.' The disappointed candidate's face was poisonous. 'Which won't be long, I'm bettin',' he snarled, with a disparaging glare at the man who had beaten him. 'You others standin' for this?' and when he got no reply, 'Helluva note, ringin' in a perishin' tramp; reckon Jesse Sark may have somethin' to say.' Jake flung away; the saloon-keeper lifted his shoulders and turned apologetically to the visitor.
'A pore loser, an' would 'a' bin a wuss marshal,' he said. 'I'm mighty glad you drifted in, Mister ?' His eyes were on the black horse, the left hip of which bore the brand J. G.
'Stands for `James Grover' but `Jim' will do just as well,' the owner told him.
Nippen nodded; he had noted the momentary hesitation, and knew that for some reason the newcomer was sailing under false colours, but that was too common in the West to have much significance, and he liked the man. Moreover, he was grateful for the opportunity to turn down Mullins, whom he regarded as something lower in the scale of Nature than the Gila monster. So, when the Bar O riders arrived, he duly presented the new officer under the name given. Reddy's eyes twinkled.
'We've met,' he said, and then, 'Jake looks like someone had trod on his tail.' They all laughed and, at Nippert's invitation, lined up at the bar and drank with the man who had been put in power --as they well knew-- partly on their account. When Gowdy had departed to placate his daughter, Rapper drew the saloon-keeper aside.
'Good work, Ned,' he complimented. 'We won't have no trouhle with the Bar O from now on; Jim has made a hit with them.'
'Quick thinkin' will beat quick shootin' off'n as not, an' the two of 'em is a combination hard to win against,' Nip-pert replied. 'Them guns he's totin' don't look exactly new. Jake will be difficult, but I figure this fella can take care of hisself.' The evening passed off quietly enough. In the course of it, the newcomer met most of the townsmen, and, save for the rougher faction which disapproved of restraint as a matter of course, created a favourable impression. He spoke and drank sparingly.
One incident alone called for the exercise of authority, and it occurred in the Red Light. Two men were playing cards, a doubtful-looking stranger who had ridden in late and a citizen known as 'Sloppy,' reputed to be rarely sober.
The marshal strolled over and stood watching the pair. Presently what he had anticipated happened : the Welcome player had won at first, but now he began to lose, and as the pile in front of him diminished, his caution and temper followed his cash. A further reverse which would have nearly wiped out his winnings proved the last straw and in a drunken fury he hurled an accusation calling for only one reply. Rasping an oath, the other man rose and reached for his gun, only to find an empty holster. A calm voice said :
'I've got yore shootin'-iron, hombre. The door is straight ahead.' Out of the corner of one eye the trouble- maker saw the marshal just behind him. A gentle jab in the short ribs from the muzzle of his own weapon apprised him that he was helpless, and with a lurid epithet he moved forward. Outside the saloon he ventured a protest :
'This ain't no way to treat a visitor. Did you hear what that soak called me?'
'Shore, an' he got yu right,' the marshal replied.
'If I had my gun ...'
'Here she is--I don't want her--got two better ones.' The fellow snatched the weapon eagerly, hesitated a bare second, and then--as he discovered it had been unloaded--thrust it into his belt with a curse.
The marshal laughed.
'I'm growed up,' he said. 'Get agoin' an' keep agoin'our graveyard is middlin' full.' The cold, ironic tone carried conviction. The speaker waited while the fellow found his pony, mounted, and was gathered up by the gloom. Returning to the saloon, he found Sloppy sprawled across the table in a half-stupor. Hoisting him to his feet, he piloted the drunkard out and down the street to a stout log shack standing next to the marshal's quarters, pushed him in and turned the key of the big padlock. When he entered the Red Light again, the proprietor met him with an approving smile.
