Frederick R. Bechdolt

“ The statutes are plain in these here matters. If a man would tell the co't to go to hell over in Tucson like Mimbres has done here, the jedge would show him where to haid in mighty quick.”
“Well,” Curt Wilcox demanded, “what would the jedge do, Beaver?”
“Make out a warrant,” the latter answered briskly, “an' send somebody to fetch the feller in.”
The cow-man smiled grimly under his heavy mustache.
“Tinkham aint hurt too bad to ride, I reckon,” he drawled. 'An' we are here to go along with him. Write yo'r warrant, Beaver.” ”

“ But last week he puts a bullet through Lon Jenkins' back-bar mirror an' drills a Mexican between the eyes. So Jenkins comes an' makes a kick—which I don't blame him none, fer them mirrors cost a heap of money. Me, I send out word by Tinkham that sech foolishness has got to stop. Then Mimbres rides into town last night along with Black Jack Davis an' Bill Fallon, an' when he hears my orders, he tears loose an' busts the hull street wide open. What's more, he creases Tinkham; who is tryin' to get action with a sawed-off shotgun. ”

“ They think he's Mimbres.”
“So that's what made the hull town hole up,” old Tinkham drawled. “How many is in Mimbres' gang, a regiment?”
“What'll it be?” The bartender shoved forth the whisky-bottle and the glasses before answering the constable's question. While they were drinking, he enlightened them.
“Mimbres,” said he, “killed six men back in Texas, an' there's two a-ridin' with him that's jest as tough—Fallon an' Black Jack Davis. When them three come to town, they run the place. An' most folks finds it handy to get out of sight.” ”

“ The sheriff shook his head in passing them.
“Done lost their trail?” Bronco Lee called.
“The sheriff drew rein.
“The trail,” said he, “is plain ef yo're lookin' to foller it.” He pointed toward a notch in the mountain-range beyond the flat. “They've rode acrost the pass.” He gazed upon them briefly. “I dunno who yo' men be, but I kin tell yo' this. Nobody that wears a star crosses them mountains. That country belongs to Mimbres.”
“Hol' on,” old Tinkham bade him as he spurred his pony again. “Us three will throw in with yo' ef yo' say the word.” ”

“ They make it out of corn which they have raised themselves, an' it is white as snow.”
“What I want to know,” said Bronco Bob, “is why yo' asked about which way Mimbres was haided? Yo' like to stampeded that there fat man.”
“I reckon that aint all I done.” Tinkham shook the tarpaulin to smoothness. “Do yo' mind what the sheriff said the other day about the outlaws doin' what man-huntin' was done in this country? Well, I happened to think of that, an' it come to me that the feller who is bein' hunted gets the chance to pick his fightin'-ground. This here strikes me as a right good place.” ”

“ The sheriff looked behind him. His followers were not blessed with that enthusiasm which will lead a man to try conclusions with a single-action revolver against repeating rifles. And as he saw them departing, it occurred to him that the law offered its own solution of this problem. He turned and rode away to find recourse according to the statutes.
OLD Beaver Smith, the justice of the peace, was holding court on the morning when the sheriff of La Cañada rode into Paradise. Constable Tinkham was sitting in his place beside the counter's end. ”

“ Constable Tinkham was expressing himself concerning the scattered population of the region.
“Sheep-herders an' prospectors,” he growled. “Cain't say I think much of 'em. This feller Mimbres 'pears to have 'em all plumb locoed. Jes' speak his name among a bunch, an' they'll quit talkin' like they'd gone dumb.”
“La Cañada,” Curt Wilcox interrupted, “lays almost under us. We'll see it when we round that next turn. We ort to get some news there..... Now what in hell!” He pulled up his pony, and the others came to a halt beside him. ”

“ He was the youngest of them all, but the width of his experience, which had included border cattle-raiding, faro-dealing and traffic with Mexican smugglers, before he became part owner of the camp's best-paying mine, gave him high standing. “We are plumb busy these days, making money, every man of us. So none of us is keepin' cases on yo'r justice-co't. Me, I'd like to hear the hull business from the start. All. that I know is that this outlaw Mimbres an' his gang has been shootin' up the town ag'in.” ”

“ With the same startling unexpectedness as its breaking, the silence resumed. But only for a moment! There came from the darkness a sobbing cough.
“Don't shoot.” It was the voice of the pockmarked man who had been playing cards with them. “My han's is up.” ”

“ The constable shook his head.
“Aint no call to go to law about that,” said he. “I'd o' done the same ef I was Mimbres.”
“What I was goin' to say,” Bronco Bob went on thoughtfully, “—La Cañada's in New Mexico. Aint the' some kink in the law about crossin' the line fer a man?”
“The's sech a thing,” the court informed him tartly, “as bein' too damn fussy about the statutes, Bob. Yo're as bad as that Tombstone lawyer that I had Tinkham throw out of the place fer sassin' me las' week. Now, my instructions is to get this feller Mimbres, no matter if yo' have to foller him to hell.” ”

“ An' it ought to be enough fer any man. Here I be, every mo'nin', finin' miners an' Mexicans that has raised too much hell the night before. An' all han's take their medicine without a kick, ontel Mimbres gets the notion of ridin' over to Paradise. ”