LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter XXIX. The Arm of the Law

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      The lights in Dry Bottom’s saloons were flickering brightly when Hollis rode down the street and dismounted from his drooping pony in front of the court house. He ran stiffly around the side of the building and knocked loudly on a door. There was a short silence and then a movement inside and Ben Allen stuck his head out of a window. He saw at a glance the upward turned face of the nocturnal visitor and called shortly: “Wait! I’ll be down!”

      There was a short wait, during which Hollis impatiently paced back and forth and then Allen appeared in the door, fully dressed. Judge Graney, in a night shirt, stood behind him.

      “Something’s up, of course,” drawled Allen as he stepped down from the door, “or you wouldn’t come around disturbing folks this way. What is it?”

      Hollis briefly related the events of the night, concluding with the statement that he was determined to force the law to act.

      “Correct!” laughed Allen. “She’s got to act now.” He caught Hollis’s arm and turned him toward a small cottonwood grove about half a mile distant. A dozen white objects dotting the grove caught Hollis’s gaze. He started.

      “Soldiers!” he exclaimed.

      “I might say that was a good guess,” drawled Allen. “I sent for them because I thought I might need them if our friend Dunlavey got to cuttin’ up any. It’s been my experience that a detail of Uncle Sam’s boys is about as good a thing to have around in case of trouble as any man could want.”

      “But you can’t use them in this case,” remarked Judge Graney, who had stepped down beside the two men. “The governor’s instructions were that they should be used merely as an instrument in enforcing the court’s order regarding the sale of Dunlavey’s cattle. The theft of the Circle Bar cattle is a matter which comes directly under the jurisdiction of the sheriff. If he refuses to act—”

      “Hell!” broke in Allen. “We know he won’t do anything!”

      The Judge smiled slightly. “I suspect he won’t,” he said dryly. He winked at Hollis.

      “Being a judge in this district I am, of course, averse to advising any infractions of the law. But if I were not a judge I would suggest that two strong, energetic men–such as you appear to be—” He leaned forward and whispered in Allen’s ear, whereat that gentleman let out a joyous whoop and almost dragged Hollis around the corner of the building toward the street, leaving the Judge standing in the doorway.

      Once on the street Allen set a pace that brought the two to the door of the sheriff’s office quickly. A light shone through the window and when Allen opened the door Watkins was sitting beside his desk, gravely fumbling a deck of cards. He dropped them when he saw his visitors and made a quick movement with his right hand toward his revolver. But Allen’s weapon was already out.

      “Bill,” he said in a soft, even voice, “we’re wantin’ a warrant for the arrest of Bill Dunlavey. The charge is stealin’ cattle. Of course you’ll issue it,” he added insinuatingly.

      Watkins’s face slowly paled. “Why—” he began.

      “Of course I knowed you wouldn’t do it when I asked you,” said Allen with a dangerously soft smile. “That’s why I come down here. This town’s got a sheriff an’ it ain’t. I wouldn’t care a damn if it didn’t have you. There’s lots of folks wouldn’t care either. So that if you’re one of them which does care you’re settin’ right still an’ not sayin’ anything which can be construed as talk till my friend here goes down to the station.” He whispered to Hollis. “Be middlin’ rapid,” he said aloud afterward, “an’ use my name.” He turned to Watkins with a smile. “While we’re waitin’ I’ll do some talkin’,” he said. “But if you let out one little wee chirp them folks which don’t care about you bein’ sheriff of this man’s town will sure have a heap of cause to rejoice.”

      Hollis was already far down the street toward the station. When he got there the station was dark–evidently the agent had gone to bed. Hollis pounded heavily on the door and presently the agent opened it, appearing in his night shirt, a heavy six-shooter in hand, his eyes blinking.

      “My name is Hollis,” said the latter from the darkness; “I want you to telegraph the governor.”

      “Come in.” The agent disappeared within, Hollis following. “This way,” he directed, as he disappeared through another door leading into the station, his night shirt flapping about his lean legs. “What you wantin’ to telegraph?” he questioned, as he seated himself before the instrument and looked up at Hollis. And then, before the latter could answer he continued: “You’re the durndest man to stir up a muss I ever, seen in my life!”

      Hollis smiled grimly as he seized a blank and wrote his message to the governor:

      “Cattle thieves caught red-handed. Sheriff refuses to act. Crisis. Suggest you appoint me temporarily.

      Ben Allen.”

      The agent took the message, read it, and then monotonously began to drum on the keys of his instrument.

      Hollis found it impossible to sit still and so he nervously paced up and down the room during the sending of the message. The agent finished and, leaned his head sleepily on the table.

      “Ought to answer in half an hour–if he’s home,” he informed Hollis. Upon which Hollis slipped out of the door and returned down the street to the sheriff’s office, peering within Watkins still sat at the table and in a chair near him lounged Allen, talking volubly. Hollis watched for a time and then returned to the station to find the agent asleep beside his instrument. Hollis had scarcely awakened him when the sounder began its monotonous ticking. He leaned over the agent’s shoulder and read the governor’s answer as the agent sleepily wrote it down.

      “Ben Allen: You are hereby appointed sheriff of Union County in place of W. Watkins, dismissed. Have Judge certify,”

      “I reckon there must be somethin’ goin’ on,” remarked the agent. “What’s the matter with Bill—”

      But Hollis had snatched the message from his hand and was out into the street in an instant and running down toward the sheriff’s office. When he arrived there Allen was still talking. He passed the telegram to him and the latter rose to his feet and smiled at Watkins, shoving the message under his nose.

      “You can read her,” he said. “Then you can go home an’ quit sheriffin’–after I’ve got through with you. You’ve been called down to the court house. I’m takin’ you, chargin’ you with bein’ an accessory before the fact, or somethin’ like that. It don’t make no difference what it is, you’re goin’ with me.”

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