Men in Indian masks and costumes gathered around us.
"Order! Sh-sh-sh," was the loud command of the man beside me in whom I recognized--or thought that I did--the voice of Josiah Curtis.
"What has happened ?" "One o' them tried to serve a writ an' we have tarred an' feathered him." Just then I heard the voice of Purvis shouting back in the crowd this impassioned plea: "Bart, for God's sake, come here." I turned to Curtis and said: "If the gentleman tried to serve the writ he acted without orders and deserves what he has got.

The other fellow is simply a hired man who came along to take care of the horses.

He couldn't tell the difference between a writ and a hole in the ground." "Men, you have gone fur enough," said Curtis.

"This man is all right.
Bring the other men here and put 'em on their horses an' I'll escort 'em out o' the town." They brought Latour on a rail amidst roars of laughter.

What a bear-like, poultrified, be-poodled object he was!--burred and sheathed in rumpled gray feathers from his hair to his heels.