Hicks half lowered his gun,
giving vent to a smothered oath.
"By God, it's the sheriff!" he muttered, in complete bewilderment.
"What the hell are we up against?"
There was an interval of intense silence, both parties gazing at each
other, the one side startled, unnerved, the other cool, contemptuous.
It was the sheriff who first spoke, standing firmly on his short legs,
and quietly stroking his beard.
"You probably recognize me, Bill Hicks," he said, calmly, "and it might
be just as healthy for you to lower that gun. I ain't here hunting any
trouble, but if it begins I 've got a posse over yonder big enough to
make it mighty interesting. You sabe?"
Old Hicks hesitated, his finger yet hovering about the trigger, his
eyes filled with doubt. There was some mystery in this affair he could
not in the least fathom, but he was obstinate and hard-headed.
"Yes, I know you all right, Mr. Sheriff," he returned, yet speaking
half angrily. "But I don't know what ye 're dippin' inter this yere
affair fer.
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