The combat on the beaten ground in front of the Silver Moon did not long endure. McMasters had borne down his man at the first leap. Rudabaugh’s right hand was still numb from the impact of the ball which had struck his weapon. Moreover, he was much older than his antagonist, soft with drink and excess of every imaginable sort, little more than the shell of a man; whereas his enemy was young, sound, hard and lithe as a panther. One fought a battle with the result foreordained, the other sought to postpone the end. McMasters was absolutely merciless when finally he twisted Rudabaugh’s arm behind him and flung him face down on the ground. Handcuffs were unknown in that land. McMasters pushed his knees up under Rudabaugh’s elbows, gripped his hands together and twisted a silk handkerchief around them, tying it into a knot. “Get up!” He kicked Rudabaugh into obedience, caught him by the collar when he stood, hated him so bitterly that he was much of the mind to shoot him even now. But at length his calmness came back to him as Hickok approached once more, McCoyne also pushing forward. “Where am I going to keep this man?” demanded McMasters. It was McCoyne who answered. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I certainly apologize. I might have known we’d need a jail, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to fix up a lot of things. Give me a day or so, and I’ll show you that Abilene has got the best jail in Kansas. I’ve been so busy——” Wild Bill turned back to Len Hersey, who now had got out at the door. “Go get your rope and help this officer,” said he. “Now go home, all of you.” He turned toward the crowd. “You’ve had enough to drink and you’ve got enough Fourth of July for one day.” He grinned as he turned once more toward McMasters. “If you should happen to take your friend out of town,” said he, “I don’t see how I could help myself. There don’t seem to be any courts here, or any place to hold a prisoner.” Rudabaugh broke out in blasphemy. “You damned outlaws, you cutthroats!” he began. “You can’t take me without any warrant, and you can’t hold me without process of law. I demand counsel. I’m going to have my trial. Is this America, I want to know?” “You said it,” remarked Bill Hickok. “That’s just what it is.” Now came running the men of the military escort. McMasters addressed the sergeant. “Help me get this man over to the livery barn.” They led Rudabaugh away. He was cursing, struggling, sobbing. Wild Bill stood looking after them, with no apparent concern. He evinced no interest in the victims of the night affray. He had known worse scenes of violence all his life, been in many encounters of greater danger. To him these matters were much in the day’s work sometimes, always tempered with the killer’s fatalism, which valued nothing save the fact that he found himself still alive.