The nine swept up in skirmish order, guns out and ready for anything in the nature of trouble that might zephyr up.  “What’s the matter, Ben?” asked Tom Murphy ominously.  As under-foreman of the ranch he regarded himself as spokesman.  And at that instant catching sight of the rope, he swore savagely under his breath.

“Nothing, Tom; nothing now,” responded Mr. Ferris.  “They was going to hang my friend there, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20.  He’s the feller that lent me his cayuse to get home on when Molly was sick.  I’m going to take him back to the ranch when he gets sober an’ introduce him to some very good friends of hissn that he ain’t never seen.  Ain’t I, Cassidy?” he demanded with a laugh.

But Mr. Cassidy made no reply.  He was sound asleep, as he had been since the advent of his very good and capable friend, Mr. Ben Ferris, of Winchester.

CHAPTER XIII

MR. TOWNSEND, MARSHAL

Mr. Cassidy went to the ranch and lived like a lord until shame drove him away.  He had no business to live on cake and pie and wonderful dishes that Mrs. Ferris and her sister literally forced on him, and let Buck’s mission wait on his convenience.  So he tore himself away and made up for lost time as he continued his journey on his own horse, for which Tom Murphy and three men had faced down the scowling population of Hoyt’s Corners.  The rest of his journey was without incident until, on his return home along another route, he rode into Rawhide and heard about the marshal, Mr. Townsend.

This individual was unanimously regarded as an affliction upon society and there had been objections to his continued existence, which had been overruled by the object himself.  Then word had gone forth that a substantial reward and the undying gratitude of a considerable number of people awaited the man who would rid the community of the pest who seemed to be ubiquitous.  Several had come in response to the call, one had returned in a wagon, and the others were now looked upon as martyrs, and as examples of asinine foolhardiness.  Then it had been decided to elect a marshal, or perhaps two or three, to preserve the peace of the town; but this was a flat failure.  In the first place, Mr. Townsend had dispersed the meeting with no date set for a new one; in the second, no man wanted the office; and as a finish to the comedy, Mr. Townsend cheerfully announced that hereafter and henceforth he was the marshal, self-appointed and self-sustained.  Those who did not like it could easily move to other localities.

With this touch of office-holding came ambition, and of stern stuff.  The marshal asked himself why he could not be more officers than one and found no reason.  Thereupon he announced that he was marshal, town council, mayor, justice, and pound-keeper.  He did not go to the trouble of incorporating himself as the Town of Rawhide, because he knew nothing of such immaterial things; but he was the town, and that sufficed.