Mead saw that he was the only one for whom protection was possible, and
exclaimed, "Say, Tom, this ain't fair!"

But Tuttle paid no attention to his protest, and began to call loudly:

"Dysert! Faustin Dysert! We know you 're in there, you and your men,
and if you 'll give yourselves up you won't get hurt. But we 're goin'
to take you, dead or alive! If there 's anybody in there that don't
belong in your gang, send 'em out, and we 'll let 'em go away
peaceable!"

There was no reply from the house. Evidently those within meant to
play a waiting game until they could get the officers of the law under
their hands, or perhaps take them unawares. Tuttle glanced at Mead and
saw that he was standing apart from the tree and the piles of wood.
Tom thought of the letter in his friend's pocket and remembered the
look that had crossed his face at the mention of his wife. Great beads
of sweat broke out on Tom's forehead. With his lips set and his eyes
on those squinting front windows he walked across to his friend and
said in a low tone:

"I reckon, Emerson, we 'd better just stand here and guard the place
till they see they 'll starve to death if they don't give up."

Mead turned upon him a look of supreme astonishment. "It's your fight,
Tom," he answered coolly, "and if you-all think that's the best way of
fightin' it, I 'll stand by and help as long as I 'm needed. But I did
n't come up here expectin' to take part in any cold-feet show!"

Tuttle wiped his face vigorously and did not answer. "I think there's