yet the inmates seemed to enjoy it. The yegg gang in particular—a choice assortment of Chi Kids, Denver Slims, and Philly Blacks who had fled from the Eastern winter—were having the time of their lives, rampaging up and down the corridor, upsetting cuspidors, throwing water from the wash-room, and making themselves strictly at home. When the sturdy form of Pecos Dalhart appeared in the door of Cell One they slackened their pace a little, but now that the moral restraint of Babe was gone they felt free as the prairie wind. Only in their avoidance of Mexicans did they show a certain consciousness of authority, for the word had passed that Pecos was buen' amigo with the umbres and no one was looking for a rough-house. As for Pecos, he put in his time thinking, standing aloof from friends and enemies alike—and his thoughts were of the revolution. When he had been off by himself reading the Voice of Reason he had been astounded at the blank stupidity of the common people, which alone was holding mankind back from its obvious destiny. "Think, Slave, think!" it used to say; and thinking was so easy for him. But the blind and brutish wage slaves who were dragged at the chariot wheels of capitalism—well, perhaps they had not yet learned how. Anyway, he had seen how inevitable was the revolution, and whichever way he turned he saw new evidences of that base conspiracy between wealth and government which keeps the poor man down. Nay, he had not only seen it—he had suffered at its hand. Yet there was one thing which he had never realized before, though the Voice of Reason was full of it—the low and churlish spirit of the masses which incapacitated them for freedom. Take those yeggs, now. They had been freed from the hard and oppressive hand of tyranny and yet as soon as the Kangaroo Court was abolished they began to raise particular hell. It was discouraging. There was only one way to beat sense into some people, and that was with a club. A cuspidor came the length of the corridor and Pecos rose slowly from his couch. What was the use of trying the revolution on a gang of narrow-headed yeggs!
"Hey," he challenged, "you yaps want to key down a little or I'll rattle your heads together. Go on into your cells now, and shut up." He fixed the yegg-men sternly with his eye, but the blood had gone to their heads from gambolling about and they still had their dreams of heaven.
"Aw, gwan," said Philly Black, "we ain't doin' nawthin'—give a feller a show, can't ye?"
"W'y, sure, I'll give you a show!" thundered Pecos wrathfully. "You yeggs think because I licked Pete Monat I give you license to prize up hell. You got this jail like a hog-waller already in two days. Now, clean up, you dastards, and the first man that opens his face to me will go to the doctor!"
There was no easy answer to an argument like that and the gang slouched sullenly to their task, making all the motions of a superficial cleaning up but leaving the jail dirtier than ever. With his strap poised Pecos stood over them, reading well the insubordination in their black hearts and waiting only for some one to start the fray. At every move the yeggs became viler and more slipshod in their methods, spilling half the contents of every can upon the floor, and still Pecos Dalhart eyed them grimly, while the awe-stricken Mexicans huddled together in their cells waiting for the catastrophe. At last Philly Black, emboldened by his immunity, was moved to take a chance. Seizing recklessly upon the nearest can he made a rush for the wash-room, slopping filth and corruption as he went. As he passed Pecos his hold slipped, accidentally, of course, and the can fell to the floor with a final overflowing of uncleanness.
"Clean that up," Pecos said, as Philly Black came to a crouch, but Philly only looked over his shoulder. "Clean that up!" commanded Pecos, drawing nearer. "Clean—" but Philly was cleaning up. His gang had not rallied to his aid. Slowly and slovenly, and making ugly faces, he bent to his unwilling task, scowling beneath his black mop of hair at Denver and Chi and the gang.
"I said clean up!" rumbled Pecos, as Philly grabbed his can to go. "Clean up! You don't call that clean, do you?"
"Aw, go t'hell!" bellowed Philly Black, hurling his slop-can once more upon the floor. "Let the dam' Mexicans clean up!"
He dodged the swift swing of the strap and leapt in, calling on his fellows for aid. For a moment they wrestled furiously, and as the yeggs rushed in to help, the Mexicans swarmed out to meet them; but before either side could lend a hand Philly Black slipped on his own dirty floor and went down with a deadly thud. Pecos rode him to the floor, clutching fiercely at his throat; for an instant he waited for him to fight back, then he sprang up and waded into the yeggs. Philly was where he would make no trouble for quite a while.
Once more at the clamor of battle the jail deputies came rushing to the rescue, bending their futile pistols upon the yelling prisoners.
"It's that blankety-blank, Pecos Dalhart!" shouted Bill Todhunter as he goggled through the bars. "Well, the son of a goat, ain't he a fightin' fool!" There was a note almost of admiration in his voice, for Pecos was punching heads and belting yeggs with the calculating rage of a conqueror.
"Git out of my way, umbres!" he yelled to his Mexican retainers. "Vaya se—vamos—I can fix 'em!" And he surely did. In his strong hands the alcalde's strap was a deadly weapon; he swung it with a puncher's skill and laid it on like a horse-wrangler. Shrieks for mercy were mingled with howls of pain and every time a man stood up to him he slugged him with all his strength. The floor was strewn with yeggs and when he had beaten down all opposition he flogged them into their cells.
"You will turn this jail into a hog-waller, will you?" he demanded
"You will turn this jail into a hog-waller, will you?" he demanded, when the corridor was cleared of men. "You will throw slops on the floor and not half clean 'em up! Well, come outer there, you low-browed hobos—I'll show you how it's done! Now take them swabs and fill your cans with water and wash this floor up right. No, you stay where you are, umbres; I want to show these brake-beam tourists who's the boss. Jump now, you panhandlers, or I'll burn you up with this!" He swung his wet strap and popped it behind the Chi Kid, and Chi went on his way. Bill Todhunter and the jail deputy looked curiously on through the bars; the reporter for the morning Blade showed up suddenly from nowhere and began to ask leading questions, but Pecos did not unbend. In vain the reporter tried to beckon him up to the bars—Pecos remembered him too well as the fresh young man who had made a jest of his breaking into jail; also he hoped he could do a little job of house-cleaning without going on record as the friend of old Boone Morgan. He might be a little weak on the revolution but he knew his natural enemies. These were the men who had thrown him into jail for branding his own cow's calf; they were the hirelings of the System, friends to the rich and enemies to the poor; to them the agony of his soul was no more than a passing jest. He turned on the reporter and scowled.
"Go take a run and jump at yourself!" he said.
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