But against Tuttle's suggestion of postponing the conflict he presented
a surprised and combative front. "What you-all thinkin' of, Tom? Why,
we 've got 'em holed up now, and all that's to do is to smoke 'em out!"

"It's Emerson I 'm thinkin' of--and Mrs. Emerson. He--he wrote her a
letter this mornin', and put it in his pocket, and asked me if anything
happened to him to see that she got it. Nick, I--I don't like to think
about that! If we put this thing off, he 'll go home, and then we-all
can fight it through without him, mebbe. Nick, you was a sure kiote to
send for him yesterday."

"Yes, I sure was," said Nick with sorrowful conviction. Then he added,
with an air of cheerful finality, "Well, I would n't 'a' done it if I
had n't been drunk! But you 're right, Tommy. It ain't the square
deal to Mrs. Emerson for us to take him into this business. It 'll be
a fight to a finish, for one side or the other, and it's just as likely
to be us as them."

At that moment Mead came up, saying briskly, "Well, boys, had n't we
better be starting out?"

Like his two friends, Emerson Mead was Texan born and bred; but a New
England strain in his blood, with its potent strength and sanity, had
given him such poise and force of character as had made him the leader
of the three through their long and intimate friendship and strenuous
life.

"I 've just been sayin' to Nick," Tom replied, his eyes evading those
of his friend, "that mebbe we 'd better let this thing slide till Black
and Williamson get back."