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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Do you know who put it there?" "Well, there warn't nobody but Luke Shanders could 'a' done it, 'cause nobody had the glass but him. I heard since that it was all a put-up job, that they had swore I kep' a roadside, and they had sot the dep'ty onto me; but I don't like to think men kin be so mean, and I ain't a-sayin' it now.
Some one lurked there, evidently cherishing all aloof a grief, an anger, a despair too poignant to share. "Dad warn't hyar whenst the dep'ty leveled," she said. "An' mighty glad we war kase somebody mought hev got hurt. But whenst Dad kem home an' larnt the news he jes' he jes' he jes' lept about like a painter." "He did!
"'Twar jes' the dep'ty critter, Clem Tweed," explained Medora, "mighty joki-fied, an' he 'peared ter be middlin' drunk, an' though he said su'thin' 'bout exemptions he 'lowed ez we-uns lived at the eend o' the world." Her mother-in-law suddenly lowered the apron from her face. "'The jumpin'-off place, war what Clem Tweed called it!" she interpolated with a fiery eye of indignant reminiscence.
"Windy Moran, begod!" he burst out, "mind fwhat he said that day 'bout Gully an' that dep'ty sheriff bizness? . . . not so 'Windy' afther all, I'm thinkin', eh?" For some few seconds they stared at him, aghast. They had forgotten Moran. "Say, Burke, though?" ejaculated Yorke incredulously.
"Th' reason I'm askin' yu' is this": He paused impressively, with puckered, thoughtful eyes. "That same man if it ain't him is th' dead spit of a man as once hit County, in Montana 'bout ten years back. Dep'ty Sheriff I can't mind his name now. It was a hell of a tough county that then. Th' devil himself 'ud ha' bin scairt t' start up in bizness ther." He shook his head slowly.
"Thus they welcome the Dep'ty Sahib," remarked Sher Khan with grim irony. It was true. No mistaking the bulky figure on horseback, alone in the forefront of the throng, trying vainly to make himself heard. Still he pressed forward, urging, commanding; missiles hurtling round him. Luckily the aim was poor; and only one took effect. A voice shouted, "You had better come back, sir." He halted.
Val brought the word out with an involuntary sharpness. "No, I reckon not. I hear him and Fred De Garmo come might' near havin' a fight las' night. Blumenthall was tellin' me this mornin'. Fred's quit the Double Diamond, I hear. He's got himself appointed dep'ty stock inspector and how he managed to git the job is more 'n I can figure out.
"Proud of this yere county?" said the boy, "or proud of being dep'ty- sheriff?" "By Jing! I'm proud o' both. The county's comin' along fine, and so'm I, Bud. It's a fact, sonny, that I'm held in high esteem as an officer. Why, my boss said to me this very day: 'Jeff, says he, 'yer makin' a record." "What sort o' record?" Jeff flushed slightly.
Shafter he says to Sampson: 'Look here, me bucko, what th' divvle ar-re ye loafin' ar-round out there f'r, he says, 'like a dep'ty sheriff at a prize fight? he says. 'Why don't ye go in, an' smash th' Castiles? he says. 'I'm doin' well where I am, says Sampson.
The two latter appeared to be engaged in a vehement, though guarded conversation stopping every now and again, as if to debate a point. "Here cometh Moran's 'dep'ty sheriff," was Yorke's facetious comment. "By gum, though!"
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