But Hugh took no chances. He knew what he was waiting for. Thirty minutes by the watch he held the desperado prisoner. When Dutch got restless he tapped the table three times with his finger tip, and the man began to sweat fear again. The big bully never knew at what moment the boy might crook his finger. “You’re goin’ on a journey,” Hugh explained at last. “You’re takin’ the stage outa town. The Candelabria one is the first that leaves. So you’re booked for a seat in it. And you’re not buyin’ a return trip ticket. Understand?” Dutch understood humbly and gratefully. His gratitude was not to this fool of a boy whom he meant to destroy some day, but to the luck which was bringing him alive out of the tightest hole he had ever been in. Under orders from Hugh the bartender disarmed Dutch. Still covered by the shotgun, the sullen dethroned chief climbed into the stage that was about to leave. From a saloon farther down the street a Negro’s mellow voice was lifted in song: “Ole Dan and I, we did fall out, An’ what you t’ink it was about? He tread on my corn an’ I kick him on de shin, An’ dat’s de way dis row begin. So git out de way, ole Dan Tucker, Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker, Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker, You’re too late to come to supper.” A crowd had gathered on the street. It watched with eagerness the taming of this bad man. In the old fighting West nobody was more despised than a cowed “man-eater.” The good citizen who went about his business and made no pretensions held the respect of the community. Not so the gunman whose bluff had been called. On the outskirts of the crowd a quiet man—he was Captain J. A. Palmer and he had nerves of steel—took up the chorus of the song derisively. Others began to hum it, at first timidly, then more boldly: “Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker, Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker, Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker, You’re too late to come to supper.” Before the last verse the song was going with a whoop. Nearly everybody present had sidestepped Dutch. Many had gone in fear of his vicious, erratic temper. It was a great relief to see him humiliated and driven away. Dutch looked neither to the right nor to the left. He sat hunched in his seat, head down and teeth clenched. At any moment the demonstration might turn into a lynching bee now that Aurora had lost its fear of him. The stage rolled away in a cloud of dust. Hugh turned, to find himself facing Captain Palmer. “Don’t you know better than to let Sam Dutch get away alive after you’ve got the drop on him?” Palmer asked. “I couldn’t kill him in cold blood.” “Hmp! He’d have killed you that way, wouldn’t he?” “Yes. But I’m no murderer.” Palmer looked the youth over with a new respect. “Shoot straight?” “I’m a pretty good shot.” “Kill if you had to?” “Yes.”