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"We ought to have thought of it before, Henry," he said frankly one night in Jeffries's office, "but we didn't think." "Meaning just what, John?" demanded de Spain without real interest. "Meaning, that in this country you can't begin on a play like pulling Sassoon out from under his friends' noses without keeping up the pace without a second and third act.
"Mr. Jeffries's place is west of the court-house?" "Directly west. Now, I'll tell you just how to get here. Do you hear?" "I'm listening." "Leave Main Street at Rancherio Street. Follow Rancherio north four blocks, turn west into Grant Avenue. Mr. Jeffries's house is on the corner." "I'll find it." "Don't come any other way. If you do, you won't see me."
He knew an old Scotch Medicine Bend barnman that worked there, a boyhood friend; but the man, McAlpin, was out. After looking the horses over and inspecting the wagons with a new but mild curiosity, awakened by Jeffries's proposal, de Spain walked back toward the station.
Though Scott had known first of de Spain's helpless condition in his desperate flight, as regarded self-defense, the Indian was the last to abandon hope of seeing him alive again. One night, in the midst of a gloomy council at Jeffries's office, he was pressed for an explanation of his confidence. It was always difficult for Scott to explain his reasons for thinking anything.
"We expected some when Henry unslung his gun," Lefever went on without respecting Jeffries's preoccupation. "As it is, those fellows have cleaned up every dollar loose in Sleepy Cat, and then some. Money? They could start a bank this minute." Sounds of revelry continued to pour in through the street window. The Morgans were celebrating uncommonly. "Rubbing it in, eh, John?" suggested Jeffries.
Even the men in Morgan's Gap, supposed to be past masters of the game played in the closed room at Calabasas, had been stunned by the issue of the few minutes with Jeffries's new man. Nan, who had heard but one side of the story, pictured the aggressor from the tale of the two who lived to tell of the horribly sharp action with him.
"Plenty, thanks," returned the shipping clerk morosely, as he picked himself up and dusted off his clothing. "Gee! You got a wallop like the kick of a mule, Per " "Cut that!" "P.S., I mean," George amended hastily. "Why didn't you ever tell me you was Jeffries's sparrin' partner?" "I'm not and never was, and furthermore I didn't hit you," replied P. Sybarite.
I dreamed the rest of this story. I thought I was in the next world. I don't know how I got there; I suppose I had been riding on the Ninth avenue elevated or taking patent medicine or trying to pull Jim Jeffries's nose, or doing some such little injudicious stunt. But, anyhow, there I was, and there was a great crowd of us outside the courtroom where the judgments were going on.
The Supreme Court, the highest tribunal of the Republic, composed of nine Judge Jeffries's, chosen both from the free and slave States, has decided that no coloured person, or persons of African extraction, can ever become a citizen of the United States, or have any rights which white men are bound to respect.
De Spain put his left hand into his side pocket and held out an unsealed envelope to Morgan. Duke, taking the envelope, eyed it distrustfully. "What's this?" he demanded, opening it and drawing out a card. "Something for easier riding. An annual pass for you and one over the stage line between Calabasas and Sleepy Cat with Mr. Jeffries's compliments."
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