The query was half a command. It required no order, for in an
instant the deputies were surrounded, and had it not been for the
cool judgment of Bob Quirk, violence would have resulted. The
primitive mind is slow to resent an affront, and while the chief
deputy had couched his last remarks in well-chosen language, his
intimation that I was a fugitive from justice, and an outlaw in
resisting arrest, was tinder to stubble. Knowing the metal of my
outfit, I curbed the tempest within me, and relying on a brother
whom I would gladly follow to death if need be, I waved hands off
to my boys. "Now, men," said Bob to the deputies, "the easiest
way out of this matter is the best. No one here has committed any
crime subjecting him to arrest, neither can you take possession
of any cattle belonging to Don Lovell. I'll renew the invitation
for you to go down to the wagon and breakfast, or I'll give you
the best directions at my command to reach Dodge. Instead of
trying to attempt to accomplish your object you had better go
back to the chaparral--you're spelled down. Take your choice,
men."

Bob's words had a soothing effect. He was thirty-three years old
and a natural born leader among rough men. His advice carried the
steely ring of sincerity, and for the first time since the
meeting, the deputies wilted. The chief one called his men aside,
and after a brief consultation my brother was invited to join
them, which he did. I afterwards learned that Bob went into
detail in defining our position in the premises, and the posse,
once they heard the other side of the question, took an entirely
different view of the matter. While the consultation was in
progress, we all dismounted; cigarettes were rolled, and while