This qualifying statement is by way of leading up to happenings that wrought a regeneration in Lafe Johnson and changed the whole course of his life.

CHAPTER XII

THE SHERIFF SETTLES A CONJUGAL DISPUTE

About a year after the killing of Bud Walton, the sheriff was engaged one day in a game of pitch in the Fashion. Order in Badger had been excellent of late. This had not been accomplished by moral suasion, although that had been a factor, but by stern and often fearless performance of duty in quelling disorders. Johnson's reputation had grown apace. He always knew the precise moment to strike, which effectually nipped many threatening feuds.

On this day, Sellers Hardin stopped his stage in front of the Fashion and inquired for the sheriff.

"Say, Lafe," he said, "there's a guy over to the Cowboys' Rest bawling his wife out powerful strong. I'd sure have smeared the road with that gen'l'man, only it weren't my business. Hey? Yes, I left 'em over there.

They come off that El Paso train, the two of 'em."

"I'll step across," said the sheriff.

He threw down his cards and walked over to the rival saloon. The landlord, who had long forgiven the blow on the head and was now a staunch Johnson man, nodded at him and paused in his work of polishing gla.s.ses to point to the door of a rear room with the towel. Inside, a loud voice was raised in maudlin harangue.

"You come along now. I'll show you. You bet we'll stay here. What? I'll learn you who's boss right now. Didn't I send you your fare? Huh? And you done come ahead on the jump. But you're too good for me now all of a sudden, ain't you? I'll--"

Lafe found a man denouncing a young woman. She sat near the window, and showed no fear as she watched him storm up and down the floor, pouring out reproaches and abuse. She was pale, but perfectly collected, and she rested her chin in her palm, regarding her companion with a species of impersonal speculation. He was a florid, youthful person of very baggy clothes and with his hair parted in the middle. The shoulders of his coat projected beyond his real shoulders to an astonishing width, and he wore peg-top trousers; also, his shoes had beautiful sloping heels and flowing bows. An intense, nervous irritability kept his arms jerking about. She listened placidly.

"If you don't quit your fooling and come along with me--" he was saying, when she cautioned: "There's somebody behind you." He wheeled and beheld the sheriff.

"What's the trouble here?" Lafe asked.

"None of your business. That's what. When we want any help in a fam'ly dispute, we'll send for you."

The sheriff, by way of answer, selected a chair and placed his hat carefully on the floor.

"You're drunk," he said, with the utmost good-nature. "Let's be friendly, now, and get this thing settled."

Beyond a faint curiosity, the girl exhibited no interest in his arrival, but her companion planted himself in front of Johnson, with his feet wide apart, and made a strong effort to look threatening.

"Well, I'll be doggoned," he said. "Who're you, anyway? What do you think you're doing, b.u.t.ting into my private affairs this way? Ain't a man boss of his own wife? Ain't I got any rights? You get out now, before I throw you out."

"This here party," Lafe said to her in a confidential aside, "is fixing to throw me into the road. He sure will, too. You can see that sticking out all over him. What do you want that I should do?"

"You don't look very scared."

"No, ma'am. I always try to hide my feelings. Do you reckon you can handle him yourself, or will I take him along?"

"Say, you! You pay attention to--"

"Where'll you take him?" she asked.

"Look a-here, you two--"

"We've got a nice, peaceful lockup, where the rats is friendly,"

answered the sheriff. "He won't be lonely. There's a Mexican there right now, drunker'n he is."

She shrugged her shoulders and looked out of the window. "Suit yourself," she said.

"Say," cried the gentleman of the peg-tops, "ain't I got anything to say in this? You're getting too gay, you two. Do you hear? Ain't a man got any rights in this country? I can run my wife alone, can't I?"

"Does this here party belong to you, ma'am? Are you his wife?"

"No."

"What? You ain't? You sit there and say you ain't my wife? Why--"

"I married him, but I'm not his wife."

"Sure," said the sheriff, "I see. I don't blame you, ma'am." He put on his hat. The other was watching him doubtfully.

"You come along with me," said Lafe.

"Come along, my foot. What do you think you are, anyway?"

"That's all right. I'm sheriff here. And if I wasn't, I'd take you along. It's one of the rules of this here town that a man can't talk to his wife like you done. Understand? Get a-going, now. I'm liable to get peevish directly."

Still he hesitated. Lafe was growing angry. His rage always seemed sudden, but this was by design. In reality it was the release of long-pent and controlled pa.s.sion.

Said the sheriff: "Hurry up, Harris."

"My name ain't Harris. It's Jackson."

"Jackson or Harris, it's all the same to me. You were Harris when me and Buf'lo Jim done run you out of Cananea. I reckon you ain't forgot that, have you?"

A quick glimmer of recognition showed that Mr. Harris had not. He sobered with amazing celerity.

"Where're we going?" he asked.

"You get moving first," said the sheriff, "and then we'll figure on that."

"I won't go," was the emphatic rejoinder. "No, sir; not me. Tell him to leave us alone, Hetty. I'm within my rights. And you're framing up something. I can tell."

"Say, Harris, you're fixing to get hurt awful bad." The sheriff's air was regretful. He stepped to the door and held it open, nodding at Jackson. That young man gave him a swift look and banged his hat down over his curling bang. Without even a word to the girl, who was regarding the tableau much as a spectator from a seat in the stalls, he walked out. The sheriff followed. Within a minute he stuck his head inside again to say: "I'll be back right away." She made no response.

The two walked out to the residence of Dutch Annie, Johnson a yard in advance.

Dutch Annie said: "Don't you bring that rat in here, Mr. Johnson."

She was a forceful woman, of startling precision of speech. Annie would not open the door, but surveyed the abject Harris through a crack about two inches wide. The sheriff kept the toe of his boot inside, to prevent Dutch Annie slamming it against them.

"I'm not here to make trouble for you, Annie," he hastened to say, "but just take a look at this feller. Ain't you seen him before?"