His burly form
underwent a series of convulsions not unlike sobs, and he shut his eyes
tightly and held them so, presenting a picture of misery unequalled in the
memory of any spectator. Harkless's outstretched hand began to shake.
"You!" he tried to continue--"you, a man elected to----"
There came from the crowd the sound of a sad, high-keyed voice, drawling:
"That's a nice vest Jim's got on, but it ain't hardly the feathers fitten
for an ostrich, is it?"
The editor's gravity gave way; he broke into a ringing laugh and turned
again to the shell-men. "Give up the boy's money. Hurry."
"Step down here and git it," said the one who had spoken.
There was a turbulent motion in the crowd, and a cry arose, "Run 'em out!
Ride 'em on a rail! Tar and feathers! Run 'em out o' town!"
"I wouldn't dilly-dally long if I were you," said Harkless, and his advice
seemed good to the shell-men. A roll of bills, which he counted and turned
over to the elder Bowlder, was sullenly placed in his hand. The fellow who
had not yet spoken clutched the journalist's sleeve with his dirty hand.
"We hain't done wit' youse," he said, hoarsely. "Don't belief it, not fer
a minute, see?"
The Town Marshal opened his eyes briskly, and placing a hand on each of
the gamblers, said: "I hereby do arrest your said persons, .and declare
you my prisoners.
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