"That's what I would, and that's what the boys come for." "But what good would it do?" "It would learn these red devils a lesson they wouldn't forget, and it would make you an' me the most popular men in the county. If you don't do it, you're dead as the hinges of hell." "If you charge that hill, some of you will stay there," put in Curtis. Yarpe turned and roared: "Boys, the sheriff has weakened. Will you follow me?" "We will!" shouted the reckless majority. At this precise moment, while looking over the sheriff's head towards the pinon-spotted hill to the west, Curtis caught the gleam of something white bobbing down the hill. It disappeared, but came into sight lower down, a white globe based in a splash of blue. It was a white helmet, topping the uniform of a cavalry officer. A sudden emotion seized Curtis by the throat--his heart warmed, swelled big in his bosom. Oh, the good old color! Now he could see the gauntleted gloves, the broad shoulders, the easy seat of blessed old Jack Maynard as he ambled peacefully across the flat. "Look there!" he cried, turning to the group inside the gate, his finger pointing like a pistol. His voice rang out joyous as a morning bugle, and the girls thrilled with joy. Yarpe looked. "Hell! The cavalry! We're euchred--clean." Over the hill behind the officer appeared a squadron of gray horse, marching in single file, winding down the trail like a long serpent, spotted with blue and buff, the sun sparkling fitfully from their polished brass and steel. When Curtis turned to the sheriff his face was pale with excitement for the first time, quivering, exultant. "You'll have the federal troops to deal with now," he said. "At last we are on equal terms." A deep silence fell on the mob. Every ruffian of them seemed suddenly frozen into immobility, and each sat with head turned and eyes wide-staring, watching the coming of the blue-shirted horsemen. As the officer approached he was distinguishable as a powerful, smooth-faced young man in a captain's uniform. As his eyes rested on Curtis his plump, red face broke into a broad smile. It was plain that he was Irish, and not averse to a bit of a shindy. Riding straight up to the agent, he formally saluted, and in a deep, dry, military voice, said: "Colonel Daggett presents his compliments to Captain Curtis and tenders Squadron B, at your service. Captain Maynard in command." With equally impersonal decorum Curtis acknowledged the courtesy. "Captain Curtis returns the compliment, and thanks Captain Maynard for his prompt and most opportune arrival--Jack, I'm mighty glad to see you." Maynard dismounted and they shook hands. "Same to you, old man. What's all the row?"