"Then I swear you in as a Deputy-Sheriff of the United States, and of
this State of Kansas; and I charge you to bring in and deliver at the
Sheriff's house, in this county of Elwood, Tom Williams, alive or dead,
and--there's your fee, five dollars and twenty-five cents!" and he laid
the money on the table.

Before the singular speech was half ended I had swung round facing him,
with a fairly accurate understanding of what he meant. But the moment
for decision had come with such sharp abruptness, that I still did not
realize my position, though I replied defiantly as if accepting the
charge:

"I've not got a weapon."

"The boys allowed you mightn't hev, and so I brought some along. You ken
suit your hand." While speaking he produced two or three revolvers of
different sizes, and laid them before me.

Dazed by the rapid progress of the plot, indignant, too, at the trick
played upon me, I took up the nearest revolver and looked at it almost
without seeing it. The Sheriff seemed to take my gaze for that of an
expert's curiosity.

"It shoots true," he said meditatively, "plumb true; but it's too small
to drop a man. I guess it wouldn't stop any one with grit in him."

My anger would not allow me to consider his advice; I thrust the weapon
in my pocket:

"I haven't got a buggy. How am I to get to Osawotamie?"