“I ’low myself we’ve been a leetle bit hasty,” admitted the leader.

“Put down that gun!  Drap it!” cried Jim Hunter, turning suddenly on Toot Wambush.  “Ef you dare to cock a gun in this crowd, you’ll never live to hear it bang!”

Wambush started to raise his revolver again, but Hunter knocked it from his hand.  Wambush stooped to pick it up, but the old man kicked it out of his reach.

“You don’t work that trick on this party,” he said, hotly.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to draw it,” muttered Wambush.

“You lie!” Then Hunter turned to the leader:  “What d’ye think ortter be done with a man like that?  Ef I hadn’t a-been so quick he’d a shot Westerfelt, an’ before the law we’d all a-been accomplices in murderin’ a innocent man.”

“I move we give the whelp six hours to git out’n the county,” said Joe Longfield.  “You all know I’ve been agin Toot.”

“That would be too merciful,” said Burks.

“Boys,” the leader cried, “Wambush has broke a rule in tryin’ this thing on us.  You’ve heerd the motion; is thar a second?”

“I second it,” said Jim Hunter.

“It’s been moved and seconded that Wambush be ’lowed six hours to git clean out o’ the county; all in favor say yes.”

There was almost a general roar.

“All opposed say no.”

No one spoke for a moment, then Wambush muttered something, but no one understood what it was.  He turned his horse round and started to mount.  He had his left foot in the stirrup, and had grasped the mane of the animal with his right hand, when the leader yelled: 

“Hold on thar!  Not so quick, sonny.  We don’t let nobody as sneakin’ as you are ride off with a gun in his hip pocket.  S’arch ’im, boys; he’s jest the sort to fire back on us an’ make a dash fer it.”

Hunter and Burks closed in on him.  Wambush drew back and put his hand behind him.

“Damn you! don’t you touch me!” he threatened.

The two men sprang at him like tigers and grasped his arms.  Wambush struggled and kicked, but they held him.

“Wait thar a minute,” cried the leader; “he don’t know when to let well enough alone.  You white sperits out thar with the tar an’ feathers come for’ard.  Wambush ain’t satisfied with the garb he’s got on.”

A general laugh went round.  With an oath Wambush threw his revolver on the ground and then his knife.  This done, Hunter and Burks allowed him to mount.

“Don’t let him go yet,” commanded the leader; “look in his saddle-bags.”

Wambush’s horse suddenly snorted, kicked up his heels, and tried to plunge forward, but Burks clung to the reins and held him.

“He dug his spur into his hoss on this side like thunder,” said a man in the crowd.  “It’s a wonder he didn’t rip ’im open.”

“S’arch them bags,” ordered the leader, “an’ ef he makes anuther budge before it’s done, or opens his mouth fer a whisper, drag ’im right down an’ give ’im ’is deserts.”