Such was the place to which our two friends were moved by the detachment of troops which had so suddenly and unwelcomely invaded their mountain retreat. A shout of mingled mirth, derision, and resentment went up in the township at this fresh evidence of the high-handedness of Uncle Sam, and in a trice the whole population crowded around the prisoners and their escort. "Hello, pard!" sung out a slouching-looking fellow in a frowsy shirt and cabbage-tree hat, addressing Vipan. "Don't be down on your luck, now. When the Colonel here's fightin' the Sioux, we're the boys to slide back and pouch the stuff. Hey!" "Say, Colonel! Going after Sittin' Bull soon?" sung out another, to the officer in command of the cavalry. "'Cause Smokestack Bill's the boy to raise a mob of scouts for yer, and we're the boys to jine." "Not till you put a hunk of lead through yon cussed white Injun, I reckon," growled a forbidding ruffian, on the outskirts of the crowd, with a scowl at Vipan. "Snakes! Wasn't he with the Injun as scalped Rufus Charlie and Pesky Bob?" said another, taking up the suggestion. And then a knot of men, gathered in conclave, eyed the object of the discussion in a manner that boded no good. Meanwhile the crowd, surging round the new arrivals, continued to pour forth banter and queries. "Got the `dust' about yer, strangers, or did yer _cache_ it?" "Say, pardners, whar did yer leave yer squaws? Or did Uncle Sam confiscate 'em as national property? Ho, ho!" "See here, boys, am I sheriff of Henniker City, or am I not?" drawled a cool, deliberate voice, as the chaff reached its height. "'Cause if I am, jest clear a way; and if I'm not, I reckon I'd like to cotch a glimpse of the galoot as says so." A shout of mirth greeted this speech, and speedily a lane was opened through the crowd, down which advanced a tall, spare man. This worthy's sallow visage was adorned with a grizzled beard of the "door-knocker" order, above which protruded a half-chewed cigar, a pair of whimsical grey eyes, and a determined mouth. In his hand he carried a Winchester rifle, and the inevitable six-shooter peeped forth from his hip-pocket. "How do, Colonel? Brought me some more citizens, hey? Smokestack Bill, as I'm a miserable sinner! That your pard, Bill? All right, come this way. Citizens of Henniker, the High Court is about to sit." Without more ado, the two "prisoners" and their custodian, resuming the thread of their previous conversation, followed the whimsical sheriff into the Courthouse, as many as could crowding in until the room was full, laughing, chatting, bantering each other; kicking up an indescribable uproar. At last, raising his voice above the shindy, the whimsical sheriff succeeded in obtaining something like silence.