"Come on, you’re my prisoner." Even Bud felt that this was extremely difficult. No resistance from the prisoner—no denial! It was unusual. But as he stepped towards Jim he was stopped by Bill. "Wait a minute, Bud; don’t be in such a ferocious hurry. Where you goin’ to take him to?" Bill’s heart beat fast, but he gave no sign of the fear that filled him. He knew what this might mean for the boss. The faces of the other men of Jim’s ranch grew gray—they too realized, far more than Jim did, that it was not the justice of the law that was to be his, but—well, the crowds grew blood-thirsty sometimes in Maverick. They had seen sights that the boss had not—an ugly swinging vision passed before their eyes, but no hint was given of this by the men. Each one knew that it would be the most unwise move they could make for the boss’s sake. Bill’s big, slow voice was heard again in its careless drawl. "Wait a minute, Bud; don’t be in such a ferocious hurry. Where you goin’ to take him to?" "County jail, of course, at Jansen," was Hardy’s answer. Bill then asked, as he surveyed Hawkins’s gang, who were whispering together with several of the hangers-on of the place, "How do you know the friends of the deceased won’t take him away from you and hang him to the nearest telegraph-pole, eh?" It was lightly said, and as he said it Bill laid his big hand on Bud’s shoulder. He must conciliate the Sheriff, gain time—anything. But Bud shook Bill off. "Are you goin’ to interfere with me in the discharge of my duty?" he blustered. "Not a bit, Bud, not a bit," Bill said; then, with sudden resolve—it would mean his life, and the lives of others against them, perhaps, but he meant to fight if necessary—he added: "But we’re goin’ to see that you do it. We ain’t afraid of a trial and a jury." He took the crowd into his confidence. "There isn’t a jury in the State that wouldn’t present the prisoner with a vote of thanks and a silver service for gettin’ rid of Cash Hawkins." He turned to Bud with his men about him. "Who’s goin’ to help you take him seventy-five miles to jail?" he demanded. "Will you swear us in?" But Bud only answered, "You can’t intimidate me, Bill." "As defunct has a gun in each hand it’s a plain case of self-defence, anyway." Bill pointed to the two revolvers still clutched in the dead man’s stiffening hands. "I don’t stand for this," thundered Bud. "Clear the room." He had been rather a friend of Big Bill’s—most of them were in Maverick—so he had listened to him longer than he would have to any of the other men, but now he was through with his arguments, he must assert his authority. "Clear the room; this prisoner goes with me." There was a movement from the crowd. Bill looked appealingly at Jim. Why would not the boss speak? Just as the crowds had reached the doors Jim said to Bud, who was advancing to formally arrest him: "Wait a minute. Take the trouble to examine my gun."