"What can I do?" snapped Block. "It's a whole town agin' one man. I'll get a warrant, an' yuh can gamble on that. If I thought I'd get a square deal, I'd admire to shoot it out." "Gimme my gun," begged Loudon. "Gimme it, or lend me one, somebody. He wants to shoot it out." "No," said Scotty, firmly, "it's gone beyond shootin'. Block knowed you was innocent. He couldn't help knowin' it. He tried to work such a sneakin', low-down trick that killin' don't seem to fit somehow. He'd ought to be rode on a rail or buried up to his neck or somethin'." "Tar an' feather him," suggested Mrs. Burr. "We ain't got no tar," said Jim Mace, "an' there ain't a chicken in the place." "There's molasses an' goose-hair quilts in the Chicago Store," said Mrs. Burr, helpfully. "What more do yuh want?" Molasses and feathers! Here was an extravagant jape! Block's hand swept downward. But no smooth revolver-butt met his clutching fingers. A far-seeing soul had, in the confusion, adroitly removed the sheriff's six-shooter. In all seriousness the men of Paradise Bend set about their work. They saw no humour in the shriekingly grotesque business. Sheriff Block essayed to struggle. But Scotty and other leading citizens attached themselves to his arms and legs and pulled him down and sat upon him. When one came running with a five-gallon jug of molasses Block, uttering strange cries, was spread-eagled. From his forehead to his feet the molasses was thickly applied. When the front of him had been thoroughly daubed, he was rolled over upon a ripped-up quilt--this so that none of the molasses might be wasted--and a fresh jug was brought into play. Dripping like a buckwheat cake, writhing in an agony of shame, Block was rolled up in the quilt. Then the quilt was torn away and men showered upon him the contents of other quilts. The Paradise Benders used up ten gallons of molasses and three quilts on Block, and they made a complete job. Awful was the wreck that staggered down the street. Somehow the sheriff contrived to reach the stable where he had left his horse, and somehow--for his movements were the movements of one far gone in drink--he threw on the saddle and passed the cinch-straps. Mounting with difficulty, he rode away. None offered to molest him further. CHAPTER X THE HORSE THIEF Loudon, who had taken no part in the feathering, watched the departure of the sheriff with brooding eyes. He did not agree with Scotty Mackenzie and the citizens of the Bend. In his estimation the punishment had not been sufficiently drastic. Alive and in possession of all his faculties the sheriff was a great power for evil. He would seek revenge. Loudon swore softly. He was far from being a bloodthirsty man, but he regarded the killing of Block as a duty. And he did not believe in putting off till some future date what could be accomplished to-day.