"No, Crosskey," rejoined the Sheriff, with slow emphasis; "I went home
first and came on hyar to see the boys."

"Wall," said Mr. Crosskey, as it seemed to me, half apologetically,
"knowin' yeou I guessed yeou ought to hear the facks," then, with some
suddenness, stretching out his hand, he added, "I hev some way to go,
an' my old woman 'ull be waitin' up fer me. Good night, Sheriff." The
hands met while the Sheriff nodded: "Good night, Jim."

After a few greetings to right and left Mr. Crosskey left the bar. The
crowd went on smoking, chewing, and drinking, but the sense of
expectancy was still in the air, and the seriousness seemed, if
anything, to have increased. Five or ten minutes may have passed when a
man named Reid, who had run for the post of Sub-Sheriff the year before,
and had failed to beat Johnson's nominee Jarvis, rose from his chair and
asked abruptly:

"Sheriff, do you reckon to take any of us uns with you to-morrow?"

With an indefinable ring of sarcasm in his negligent tone, the Sheriff
answered:

"I guess not, Mr. Reid."

Quickly Reid replied: "Then I reckon there's no use in us stayin';" and
turning to a small knot of men among whom he had been sitting, he added,
"Let's go, boys!"

The men got up and filed out after their leader without greeting the
Sheriff in any way. With the departure of this group the shadow lifted.