Faustin Dysert, who had organized the society and was still its head, combined in himself the worst tendencies of both Mexicans and Americans, his mother having been of one race and his father of the other, and both of the sort that reflect no credit upon their offspring.  But he owned the house in which he lived and two or three other adobes which he rented, and was therefore lifted above the necessity of labor and held in much regard by his fellow Mexicans.  The combination of that influence and the favor of the political boss of his party, to whom he had been of use, had made him chief of police of Santa Fe and had kept him in that office for several years.  And he had been careful to recruit his force from the membership of his society.

Tuttle knew that he could not count on any open help or sympathy from the public, for no one would dare to invite thus frankly the disfavor of the gang.  And he knew, too, that he could expect to get no more information from leaky members of the society or their friends, since that swift punishment had been meted out to the wagging tongue of Felipe Vigil.  He was well aware also that his chief, the United States Marshal, had not been zealous in the pursuit of Dysert’s criminals, and that Black’s friend, Congressman Dellmey Baxter, was known to have under his protection several members of the society.  Therefore, if he bungled the job, he was likely to lose his official head; and if he were not swift and sure in his movements against the gang, his physical head would not be worth the lead that would undoubtedly come crashing into it from behind, before the end of the week.

“The thing for us to do, Tommy,” advised Ellhorn, “is to take in all the gang we can get hold of.  We ’ll herd ’em all into jail first, and get the evidence afterwards.  There ’ll be some show to get it then, and there ain’t now.  We ’ll load up with warrants, and arrest every kiote that’s thought to be a member of the gang; and we ’ll start in with Faustin Dysert himself!”

Tuttle looked perplexed.  He had in his veins a strain of German blood, which showed in his frank, sincere, blonde countenance and in his direct and unimaginative habit of mind.  But Ellhorn supplemented his solidity and straightforwardness with an audacity of initiative and a disregard of consequences that told of Celtic ancestry as plainly as did the suggestion of a brogue that in moments of excitement touched his soft Southern speech.

“Marshal Black would be dead agin goin’ at it that way,” said Tuttle doubtfully.

“Of course he would!  But he ain’t here, and we ’ll run this round-up to suit ourselves; and if we don’t bunch more bad steers than was ever got together in this town before, I ’ll pull my freight for hell without takin’ another drink!”

“Mebbe you ’re right,” said Tuttle slowly, “and I think likely that would be Emerson’s judgment too.  If he hadn’t got married we ’d be all right.  Us three could go up agin the whole lot of ’em and win out in three shakes!”