Thet's me, gents." "Oh, come off; you can't run your notions agin the whole blame moral sentiment of this camp." "Moral sentiment! I 'm backin' up the law, not moral sentiment, ye cross-eyed beer-slinger, an' if ye try edgin' up ther another step I 'll plug you with this '45.'" There was a minute of hesitancy while the men below conferred, the marshal looking contemptuously down upon them, his revolver gleaming ominously in the light.

Evidently the group hated to go back without the prisoner.
"Oh, come on, Buck, show a little hoss sense," the leader sang out.
"We 've got every feller in camp along with us, an' there ain't no show fer the two o' ye to hold out against that sort of an outfit." Mason smiled and patted the barrel of his Colt.
"Oh, go to blazes! When I want any advice, Jimmie, I'll send fer ye." Some one fired, the ball digging up the soft earth at the marshal's feet, and flinging it in a blinding cloud into Hampton's eyes.

Mason's answer was a sudden fusilade, which sent the crowd flying helter-skelter into the underbrush.

One among them staggered and half fell, yet succeeded in dragging himself out of sight.
"Great Scott, if I don't believe I winged James!" the shooter remarked cheerfully, reaching back into his pocket for more cartridges.

"Maybe them boys will be a bit more keerful if they once onderstand they 're up agin the real thing.