CHAPTER VI.
SOLOMON SHOWS HIS NERVE.
The jail at Elreno was a wooden building, hastily constructed in thefeverish days of the early boom, with many weak points and few strongones.
Not for long were prisoners confined there, as "justice" in the newTerritory moved swiftly, and an arrest was quickly followed by a trial.
Hank Kildare and the guard moved swiftly with their prisoner, avoidingthe most public streets, and taking the boy to the jail by a roundaboutway.
It was well they did so, for, although the mob had dispersed, at therequest of Miss Dawson, the street along which it was believed thesheriff would take Black Harry was thronged with citizens eager to get asquare look at the boy outlaw, who had become famous within ten days.
It is possible that Frank might have been taken along that streetwithout trouble, but it is much more likely that the sight of him wouldhave aroused the mob once more, and brought about another attempt atlynching.
In fact, Bill Buckhorn, the man from 'Rapahoe, had gathered aninterested knot of tough-looking citizens about him, and he was dilatingon the "double derned foolishness" of wasting time over a person likeBlack Harry by taking him to jail and giving him a trial.
"Over in 'Rapahoe we hang 'em first an' try 'em arterward," boastinglydeclared the man in leather breeches. "We find that thar is thersimplest way o' doin' business. Ef we makes a mistake, an' gits therwrong galoot, nobody ever kicks up much o' a row over it, fer we'renaterally lively over thar, an' we must hev somethin' ter 'muse us'bout so often.
"Now, ef we hed ketched this yere Black Harry--wa'al, say! Great cats!Does any critter hyar suspect thar'd been any monkey business with thetthar young gent? Wa'al, thar wouldn't--none whatever. Ef we couldn'tfound a tree handy, we'd hanged him ter ther corner o' a buildin', urany old thing high enough ter keep his feet up off ther dirt.
"Hyar in Elreno, ye'll take ther varmint ter jail, an' it's ten ter onehe'll break out afore twenty-four hours, arter which he'll thumb hisnasal protuberance at yer, an' go cayvortin' 'round after ther same oldstyle, seekin' whomsoever he kin sock a bullet inter. Then you'll hateyerself, an' wish ye'd tooken my advice ter hang ther whelp, sheriff orno sheriff. You hear me chirp!"
There were others who thought the same, and it was hinted that HankKildare might not be able to take his prisoner to the jail, after all.
Burchel Jones, the private detective, was in the crowd, and he hustledabout, loudly proclaiming that he was the man who captured Black Harry.Bill Buckhorn heard him, stopped him, looked him over searchingly.
"Look hyar!" cried the man from 'Rapahoe. "Is it a straight trail ye'relayin' fer us?"
"What do you mean by that?" asked the man with the foxy face, in apuzzled way.
"Dern a tenderfoot thet can't understand plain United States!" snortedBuckhorn. "Ther same is most disgustin', so says I! Ye've got ter talklike a Sunday-school sharp, ur else ther onery critters don't hitch teryer meanin'. Wat I wants ter know, tenderfoot, is ef yer tells thertruth w'en yer says yer roped Black Harry."
Jones stiffened up, assuming an air of injured dignity.
"The truth! Why, I can't tell anything but the truth! It's an insult tohint that I tell anything but the truth!"
"W'at relation be you ter George?"
"George who?"
"Washington."
"Sir, this attempt at frivolity is unseemly! Why should it seemremarkable for me to capture Black Harry?"
"Ef a galoot with his reputation let an onery tenderfoot like you ropehim, it brings him down in my estimation complete!"
"I took him by surprise. I clapped a loaded revolver to his head, and hecould do nothing but put up his hands."
"Wa'al, you might ram a loaded cannon up ag'in my head, an' then I'dshoot yer six times afore you could pull ther trigger," boastedBuckhorn. "Black Harry ain't got no license ter live arter this, an' Ithinks it's ther duty o' ther citizens o' this yere town ter gittergether an' put him out o' his misery."
"That ith wight," drawled a voice that seemed to give the man from'Rapahoe an electric shock. "The w'etch ith verwy dangerwous, and Iweally hope you will hang him wight away, don't yer know. It ithdweadful to think that the cwecher might get away and stop a twain thatI wath on, and wob me of awl my money--it ith thimply dweadful!"
"Great cats!" howled Buckhorn, staring in amazement at the speaker. "Isthar ary galoot hyar kin name thet critter?"
"Uf anypody vill name id, I vill gif id do 'em!" cried a nasal voice,and Solomon Rosenbum, with his pack, newly bound up, was seen on theedge of the crowd, having just arrived.
"My name, thir, ith Cholly Gwayson De Smythe," haughtily declared thedude. "I do not apweciate youah inthulting manner, thir. I demand anapology, thir!"
"Apology!" howled Buckhorn, looking savage. "Of me?"
"Ye-ye-yeth, thir," faltered Cholly, shivering.
"Wa'al, I'll be derned!"
"Do you apologize, thir?"
"Ter a thing like you? No!"
"Then I'll--I'll----"
"What?"
"Thee you lataw, thir."
And the dude took to his heels, breaking from the crowd and running fordear life, literally tearing up the dust of the street in his franticeffort to get away in a hurry.
"Haw!" snorted Bill Buckhorn. "See ther varmint go! I reckon I'll hurryhim up jest a little!"
Then the man from 'Rapahoe jerked out a big revolver, and sent three orfour bullets whistling past Cholly's ears, nearly frightening the poorfellow out of his clothes.
Buckhorn supplied the revolver with fresh cartridges, at the same timeobserving:
"Over in 'Rapahoe such a derned freak as thet thar would be a reg'lersnap fer ther boys. They'd hev more fun with him then a funeral.Somehow, this yere place seems dead slow, an' it makes me long ter goback whar thar is a little sport now an' then."
"Vell," said the Jew, with apparent honesty, "v'y don'd you go pack?Maype uf you sdop a vile, you don'd pe aple to do dat."
"Haw? What do you mean, Moses?"
"My name vas nod Moses."
"Wa'al, it oughter be, an' so I'll call yeh thet."
"All righd, Mouth; led her go."
"Wat's thet?" shouted Buckhorn, surprised. "Whatever did you call mejest then, I want ter know."
"Mouth."
"Mouth!"
"Dat vas righd."
"Thet ain't my name."
"Vell, id oughter peen; your mouth vas der piggest bart uf you."
Buckhorn literally staggered. He looked as if he doubted his ears hadheard correctly, and then, noting that the crowd was beginning to laugh,he leaped into the air, cracking his heels together, and roaring:
"Whoop! Thet settles you, Moses! You'll hev a chance ter attend your ownfuneral ter-morre!"
The Jew quietly put down his pack, spat on his hands, and said:
"Shust come und see me, mine friendt, und I vill profe dat your mouthvas der piggest bart uf you."
"I ain't goin' ter touch yer with my hands," declared the man from'Rapahoe, once more producing the long-barreled revolver; "but I'llshoot yer so full o' holes thet ye'll serve fer a milk-skimmer! Git downon yer marrerbones an' pray!"
"Look here, mine friendt," calmly said the Jew, as the crowd began toscatter to get out of the way of stray bullets, "uf you shood ad me, idvill profe dat you vas a plowhardt und a cowart. Uf you shood ad me, derbeople uf dis blace vill haf a goot excuse to holdt a lynchings."
"Wa'al, I'm good fer this hull derned county! This town is too slow terskeer me any ter mention. Git down!"
"Uf I don'd do dat?"
"I'll shoot yer legs out from under yer clean up ter ther knees!"
"Vell, then, I subbose I vill haf to--do this!" Solomon had seemed onthe point of kneeling, but, instead of doing so, he ducked, leaped inswiftly beneath the leveled revolver, caught Buckhorn by the wrist, andwrenched the weapon from his hand, flinging it aside with the remark:
"I don'd vant to peen shot alretty, und, if you try dat again, you vill
ged hurt pad, vid der accent on der pad!"
Buckhorn seemed to be stupefied, and then, uttering another roar, helunged at the Jew, trying to grapple Solomon with his hands.
"I'll squeeze ther life out of yer!" snarled the ruffian.
"Oxcuse me uf I don'd lofe you vell enough to led you done that," saidthe Jew, nimbly skipping aside. "Your nose shows you vas a greadttrinker; shust dry my electric punch."
Crack! The knuckles of the Jew struck under the ear of the man from'Rapahoe. It was a beautiful blow, and Buckhorn was knocked over in atwinkling, striking heavily on his shoulder in the dust of the street.
The fall seemed to stun the man in leather breeches, but he soon sat up,and then, seeing Solomon waiting for him to rise, he asked:
"Whar is it?"
"Vere vas vat?"
"Ther club you struck me with."
"Righd here," said the Jew, holding up his clinched hand.
"Haw! Ye don't mean ter say you didn't hit me with a club, or somethinglike a hunk o' quartz?"
"Dat vas der ding vat I hit you vid, mine friendt. Shust ged up, und Ivill profe id py hitting you again."
"Say!"
"Vell?"
"I don't allow thet I'm as well as I might be, an' I ain't spoiling' fertrouble none whatever. I'm onter you. You're a perfessional pugilist indisguise. If you'll let me git up, I'll go right away and let youalone."
"Vell, ged up."
"You won't hit me when I do so?"
"Nod if you don'd tried some funny pusiness."
Buckhorn struggled to his feet, keeping a suspicious eye on Solomon allthe while. He then picked up his revolver, but made no offer to use it,for the Jew was watching every movement, and he noted that Solomon hadone hand in his pocket.
"A critter thet knows tricks like he does, might be able ter shoot'thout drawin'," muttered the man from 'Rapahoe. "I don't allow it'd behealthy ter try a snap shot at him."
A roar of laughter broke from the spectators, as they saw the ruffianput the revolver back into its holster, and turn away, like a whippedpuppy.
"Hayar, you mighty chief from 'Rapahoe," shouted a voice, "do yer findthis yar town so dead slow as yer did? Don't yer 'low yer'd best go backter 'Rapahoe, an' stay thar? Next time, we'll set ther dude tenderfooton yer, an' he'll everlastin'ly chaw yer up!"
"How low hev ther mighty fallen!" murmured Buckhorn, as he continued towalk away.