the alcalde's place. There were likewise jail-lawyers galore, petty grafters who pitted their wits against the prosecuting attorney in a brave attempt to earn a fee, or at least to establish a factitious claim against the defendant. Out they surged, sheriff, lawyers, and alcalde, and bore down on Pecos in a body, the sheriff to arrest him, the lawyers to get his case, and the alcalde to tip his chair against the grating, where the reporter could see all the fun,—and try the case in style.
"Fuzzy!" thundered the yegg sheriff, laying a heavy hand upon Pecos's shoulder, "I arrest youse in the name of the law!"
"The hell you say!" exclaimed Pecos, backing off; and in an instant the hardened jail-birds knew that they had a "gay-cat." Only Rubes and gay-cats resisted arrest in jail—the old-timers stepped up promptly, before the sheriff could "give them the roust" from behind.
"Yes, an' fer breakin' into jail!" hollered Slattery. "Come on now and don't make me any trouble or I'll cop youse in the mush!"
"Arraign the prisoner," shouted the alcalde pompously, "bring 'im up hyar, an' ef he's half as bad as he looks he'll git the holy limit. Wake up thar, you, an' he'p the sheriff, or I'll set you to scrubbin' floors."
They came in a struggling mass, dominated by the tall form of the sheriff, and before Pecos was aware of his destiny he was hustled before the judge.
"What is the charge against this mug?" inquired Pete Monat, slapping his strap across his knee for silence.
"Breakin' inter jail, Yer Honor!" responded the sheriff, bowing and touching his forelock.
"Prisoner at the bar," declaimed the alcalde, "you are charged with wilfully, feloniously, an' unlawfully breakin' inter this hyar jail—do you plead 'Guilty' or 'Not guilty'?"
"I don't plead," said Pecos, with suspicious quiet.
"'Don't plead' is the same as 'Not guilty,'" announced the judge, "and bein' as the district attorney is such a long-winded yap I'll jest pull off this examination myse'f. How come you're hyar, then, you low-browed reperbate, ef you didn't break inter jail? Answer me thet, now, an' be dam' careful to say 'Yer Honor' or I'll soak you for contempt of court!"
"Say," said Pecos, speaking through the gratings to Boone Morgan, "do I have to stand for this? I do? Well, to hell with such a layout! Here, keep your hands off o' me now, or somebody'll git badly hurt!" He placed his back against the grating and menaced the strong-armed sheriff with a tense fist, turning a scornful eye upon the clamoring judge.
"Oyez! Oyez! Silence in the court!" bellowed Pete Monat, leaping up on his chair. "The prisoner is found guilty and sentenced to pay a fine of one dollar, or pack out the slops for a week! Mr. Sheriff, bring 'im up, an' ef he resists we'll give 'im thirty slaps with this hyar!" He held up his black strap threateningly, but Pecos only skinned his teeth like a wolf that is caught in a trap, and stood at bay.
"I'd like to see the bunch of hobos that can man-handle me!" he snarled, making a pass at the sheriff. "Hey, bring me a dollar!" he commanded, speaking over his shoulder, and as the deputy went back to the office to get one from his envelope the Roman mob fell back and ceased its clamoring. The dollar was what they wanted. There was always a Mex to clean up, but the dollar went for a feed—fruit, candy, good things to eat—and not every man who entered could pay his fine. At the same time they stood off a little from the prisoner at the bar, for he had a bad look in his eye. The kangaroo sheriff, standing discreetly aloof, noticed it; the alcalde also; and in the premonitory hush that ensued even Boone Morgan began to read the signs of trouble. Next to his dream of breaking up the cattle-stealing business in the mountains, the Geronimo sheriff cherished the fond hope of building up a kangaroo court that would take the entire problem of jail discipline off his hands. It was an old idea, the kangaroo court, dimly reminiscent of frontier cow-camps but smelling more of hoboism, yet good for law and order if the right men were in power. Pete Monat was a terror to the evil-doer, especially if he was a Mex or darker, and Boone Morgan stood generously behind him, even when his decisions were a little rank. Right now the situation looked ominous and as Pecos continued to spit forth his venom, hissing and swelling like a snake at every approach of the pack, he made bold to interfere in the puppet play.
"Here," he said, passing a dollar through the bars, "I'll advance you the money—these fellows won't hurt you none."
"Keep your dirty dollar!" snapped Pecos, striking it away, "I got money of my own!"
"Well, you don't need to git mad about it—I jest wanted to help you."
"Yes, you help me! You throw me into jail for somethin' I never done and then bring this bunch of town boys in to see me kangarooed. That big stiff hain't got no right to fine me a dollar, an' you know it, but I'll give him the money all right—you jest wait!" He grinned sardonically at Michael Slattery, straightened his back and waited. He had all the time there was—the grand jury did not meet till Fall, and that was six months yet. This was the law they talked about—this was justice—to hold a man six months before he came to trial! Shut him up in that dark, stinking hole and keep him until he was broken! Sure—and let a bunch of yeggs spread-eagle him over a chair and beat him with a strap! For a year Pecos had been at war with society and never struck a blow for the revolution. But it was not too late. In turning him over to a kangaroo court Boone Morgan had added the last indignity—it was war now, and war to the knife.
The deputy returned leisurely, and shoved a dollar bill through the bars.
"Much obliged," said Pecos, and he spoke so quietly that even the kangaroo sheriff was deceived. "Here's your dollar," he said, turning to hold out the money, "come and git it." There was a sinister note in that last phrase, but Slattery did not catch it. He was a tall, hulking man, heavy-handed and used to his own way; the cattle-rustler was short and broad, like a stocky, hard-rock miner, and he stood with his back to the bars as if he were afraid. "Come and git it," he said, very quietly, but as Mike Slattery reached out his hand for the money the cowboy grinned and jerked it back. Slattery grabbed, and like a flash Pecos put over a blow that was freighted with sudden death. It landed behind the yegg sheriff's massive jaw, threw him sideways and whirled him over; then the thud of the blow was followed by a thump and like a boneless carcass he piled up on the floor. To a man a few removes farther from the ape the thump on the concrete floor would have resulted in a cracked skull, but fortunately for Slattery hard heads and evil dispositions generally go together, and he was safe from anything short of an axe. It was the blow under the ear that had jarred his brains—the bump against the concrete only finished the job up and saved him from something worse. Without looking to see where his victim fell Pecos Dalhart leapt vengefully into the swarming crowd of prisoners, knocking them right and left like ten-pins and shouting in a hoarse voice:
"Come an'—huh—git it! Come—huh—and git it!" And at every grunt he sent home a blow that laid his man on the floor.
"Back to your cells!" roared Boone Morgan, rattling the grating like a lion caged away from a deadly battle. "Git back there and let me have a chance!" But his voice was drowned in the deep-voiced challenge of Pecos, the shrieks of trampled Mexicans, the curses and sound of blows. Pandemonium broke loose and in the general uproar all semblance of order was lost. On the outside of the bars a pair of shouting deputies menaced the flying demon of discord with their pistols, calling on him to stop; Boone Morgan tried to clear the corridor so that he could open the door; but they might as well have thundered against the wind, for Pecos Dalhart had gone hog wild and panic lay in his wake.
"Yeee-pah!" he screamed, as the way cleared up before him. "Hunt your holes, you prairie dogs, or I'll shore deal you misery! Out of my road, you dastards—I'm lookin' for that alcalde!" He fought his way down the corridor, leaving his mark on every man who opposed him, and Pete Monat came half way to meet him. Pete had been
