Human emotions are like clocks: some of ’em will run longer ’n others; but they’ll all run down unless they’re wound up again every so often. Even fear will only run so long, as several late-lamented bullies have been forced to learn just before they passed over the Great Divide. After you’ve scared a feller as bad as he can get, it is well enough to let him alone. If you keep on addin’ horror onto horror, his fear is likely to run down; and the chances are ’at he’ll get irritated, and slaughter ya.

I don’t know whether or not patience can rightly be called an emotion; but anyway, mine runs down a little easier ’n airy other o’ my faculties, and sittin’ up in the chill an’ waitin’ for a lot o’ festive fools to go to bed, allus was just the sort o’ thing to disgust me. Those Cross-branders didn’t seem to have any more use for shut-eye that night than a convention o’ owls. Some of ’em rode off at dusk, but more of ’em arrived, and they held some sort of high jinks in the bunk-house, till I began to talk back at myself loud enough for all to hear. It was full moon an’ we could see dogs loafin’ an’ fightin’ down at the ranch, the light in the new cabin was the first to go out, an’ for the life of me, I couldn’t see where we had a single pair to stay on; but Horace seemed to accumulate obstinacy with every breath he drew. The sided with me, but criticizin’ Horace went again’ his religion, so he didn’t make any more uproar than a gnat fight.

Finally I calmed down until I could stretch each word out a full breath an’ sez in my doviest voice: “Horace, will you kindly tell me what in hell you intend to do?”

He studied the situation careful, and took all the time he needed to do it. “I’m goin’ back to camp,” sez he. “To-morrow night they’ll be sleepy, and we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

“Hurrah for hot weather! Greece has finally melted!” I yelled, an’ we hustled for our ponies.

I have a buck-skin riggin’ I put on the bridle of a hoss who gets into the evil way of steppin’ on his reins; and I had fixed one on Horace’s hoss to bring him back to his senses should he attempt to play the same trick he had worked on us the day before. When a hoss wearin’ one o’ these contrivances steps on his reins it pinches his ears, down close to his head where they’re tender, and generally works a reformation in short order.

We forgot all about this, and when Horace jumped into his saddle, he gave a jerk on the reins—and got bucked into a clump o’ cactus. The hoss didn’t try any runnin’, though, which proves he had learned a proper respect for trailin’ reins. Still, Horace wasn’t quite in the mood to see the beauty o’ my method, so he insisted upon my swappin’ hosses with him. It was a good two-hours’ ride to Olaf’s, and by the time we had changed saddles, and I had convinced the pony that his idees of buckin’ were childish an’ fu-tile, and his show of temper had only given him a hundred an’ ninety pounds to carry instead of a hundred an’ twenty, it was after nine o’clock.

We were hungry enough to call for speed; but still it was eleven by the time we reached the Spread. We thought we had seen a horseman go into it from the other direction; but the moon had ducked under a cloud and we couldn’t be certain.

We didn’t intend to waken Kit if we could help it; so we started to put the hosses into the corral as quiet as possible. Just as we had thrown our saddles over the top bar, we heard a commotion from the cabin, and started for it on the run.

There wasn’t any light in the cabin; but we heard Kit screamin’, and before we arrived, we saw a man rush around the corner just as the door was flung open, and two other men jumped towards him from the inside. These two had knives in their hands; and the man outside took a step back. They rushed him, but he hit one with his right fist, and the other with his left, and curled ’em both up again’ the side o’ the house in a way to make a feller’s heart dance for joy. Then we saw it was the Friar himself, and we gave a whoop.

Kit had banged the door shut, put up the bar, got a rifle and made ready for what was to come next; but when she heard our whoop, she put on her wrapper and opened the door. The two men ’at the Friar had crumpled up were those same two Greasers ’at The had told us were the meanest pair he had ever herded with.

We took ’em by the heels an’ straightened ’em out, while Kit indulged in a few little hystericals. The Friar had allus been a great hand to expound upon moral force an’ spiritual force, and such items, and now when the two Greasers refused to come back an’ claim their own bodies, he got a little fidgetty.

“Friar,” I sez, “I give in to you. Your quiet way o’ lettin’ the right work out its own salvation is the surest way I know; and in an emergency like this, it does full as well as violence.”

The Friar wasn’t in no mood for hilarity, though; so after gettin’ their weapons an’ tyin’ ’em up, we soused the Greasers with water, and brought ’em back to give an account o’ themselves, Kit all the time tellin’ us what had happened.

It seems ’at Kit had been hoein’ in her beloved garden that day an’ had been purty tired at night; so after waitin’ for us until she got exasperated, she had eaten her own supper, put ours on the table, an’ turned in. Olaf had put up another cabin the same size as his first. He had put ’em side by side with a porch joinin’ at their eaves. In one cabin was the dinin’ room an’ kitchen, all in one, and in the other was the bedroom an’ settin’ room.

Kit had heard a noise in the settin’ room and had opened the door before she was full awake, thinkin’ it was the dog or cat. The minute she had opened the door they had grabbed her, and she had begun to scream. They shut off her wind a little; but they wasn’t rough with her—quite the contrary. They leered into her eyes, and patted her on the shoulders, and made queer, gurglin’ noises in their dirty brown throats; but they didn’t speak to her, not one word.

Kit was strong, an’ she had fought ’em to a standstill for what she thinks was twenty minutes, at least; but she was beginnin’ to weaken. One of ’em kept his arm about her neck, and whenever she tried to scream, shut off her wind. She had heard the Friar’s hoss nicker when he opened the first pole gate, and this provided her with enough moral courage to sink her teeth into the wrist of the arm about her neck. The feller had give a yell, and struck her; but at the same time, she had opened up a scream of her own which loosened things all over the neighborhood.

The Friar had first put for the settin’ room door; but they had locked this door on the inside, intendin’ to go out the side door. He savvied this so he dove into the porch-way between the two cabins, and made a rattlin’ on this door. They had paused at this; but he had to rattle several times before they took down the front bar. We had been fordin’ the crick about this time.

The Greasers had tried to get out the window once; but Kit had called out what they were up to; so they had turned on her an’ choked and beat her scandalous.

This was Kit’s side, and by the time she had finished tellin’ it, the Greasers had begun to moan an’ toss. The Friar gave a sigh of relief, as soon as they came to enough to begin grittin’ their teeth. I sat ’em up with their backs again’ the side of the cabin, and intimated that we were ready to receive their last words.

We had to encourage ’em a bit, one way or another; but we finally got out of ’em that they had poisoned the dog, and then cut a crack in the door till they could raise the bar. They said ’at Ty Jones hadn’t had no hand in plannin’ their trip; but had offered ’em a hundred apiece if they could put Olaf in the mood of wishin’ he had sold out peaceable.

“Well,” sez I, as soon as they were through, “shall we finish with ’em to-night, or give ’em till to-morrow to repent?”

“We shall of course deliver them to the proper officials to be tried by due process of law,” sez the Friar.

“What for?” sez I. “Ya never can tell how a trial will turn out; but we know ’at they have forfeited the right to live; so we’ll just give ’em what they’ve earned and save all fuss.”

“No good ever comes of men taking the law into their own hands,” sez the Friar firmly.

“How come, then, that you didn’t run an’ tell some justice o’ the peace, ’at these two snakes was actin’ disrespectful—instead of knockin’ ’em up again’ the logs?” sez I.

“I should have done so if I had had time,” sez the Friar with dignity.

“Well, you’re better trained ’n we are,” sez I; “but it still takes a little time for you to make your hands mind your self-control, after you’ve been het up. You can do it in ten minutes, say; but it takes us about a week, and by that time the’ won’t be any need for the law.”

“No,” sez the Friar, “I insist that we rely upon the law. We count ourselves as of the better element; and the most vicious conditions arise when the better element takes the law into its own hands. When a vicious man does illegal violence, it does not establish a precedent; but when the decent man does the same thing, it tears away forms of civilization which have taken centuries to construct.”

“That sounds like sense,” sez I; “and after this is all over, I don’t mind arguin’ it out with you; but right now, it would seem to me that if we went to law about this, it would be because we wanted to shoulder onto the law the responsibility of doin’ what we feel ought to be done, but which we haven’t the nerve to do ourselves.”

“If you attempt to lynch these men, I shall ride at once and give the alarm,” sez the Friar.

“And when you came back, you would find ’em swingin’ from a limb,” sez I. “I’m with you in most things, Friar, and if the’ was a shred o’ doubt, I’d be with you in this; but it’s too plain a case. I’m willin’ to hold these two in secret until we can collect a posse o’ twelve to give ’em a jury trial; but this is the most I’ll do. Ty Jones has got others of his gang away from the law, but he don’t get these two—not if I can help it.”

Horace sided with me, and so did The, though he didn’t have much to say. He was thinkin’ of his own trip to pester Olaf, and it came back to him purty strong. The Friar finally had to agree not to notify the law until I’d had time to gather up a posse. I made Horace promise not to tell the Friar about our seein’ the woman back at Ty’s, saw that the Greasers were planted safe in Olaf’s log barn, and set out at once for the Diamond Dot on a fresh hoss. I never want to eat none before startin’ a ride like this.

I rode all that night through the moonlight; swingin’ up over the passes, fordin’ the rivers, and reachin’ the Diamond Dot at noon the next day. I didn’t let on to Jabez ’at I was there at all; but I got Spider Kelley, ol’ Tank Williams, Tillte Dutch, and Mexican Slim to take a vacation and come on back with me. This gave five for the jury, as I didn’t intend to have Horace or The sit on it, not knowin’ how far their prejudice might prevent ’em from executin’ my idee of justice. We set out to return, about five o’clock, and rode into the Spread at seven the next mornin’ with eight other fellers we had brought along for good measure.

Old Jimmy Simpson and his four grown sons were in this bunch, and I was purty well acquainted with ’em. I knew ’at they had been amply pestered by Ty Jones’s outfit, and wouldn’t be too particular about what book-law might have to say on the subject, though ol’ man Simpson was up on book-law. The other three were fellers they knew and were willin’ to guarantee. We were all a little sleepy, so we decided to hold the trial after dinner.

The Friar had spent as much time with the Greasers as they’d stand for; but he hadn’t made much impression on ’em. I knew ’at he was heart-whole in his attitude, an’ I hated to cross him; but this was a case o’ principle with me, so when we got ready for the trial, I tried to get him to take a long walk, but he refused.

We held the trial in front o’ the barn, and it was as legal as any trial ever was, and as solemn, too. We untied the prisoners, and called Kit for the first witness. She told it just as she had told it to us, but her bruised face would have been all that was necessary. Then we called the Friar and he told his part, and we let him make a speech in favor o’ law and order; and cheered him hearty, too, when he got through.

I had just begun to give my part, when Olaf and Oscar rode up. Olaf sat on his hoss and looked at us a moment, at Kit with her bruised face, holdin’ the boy in her arms, at the prisoners and us; and then he asked the Friar what it all meant. The Friar was sunonomous with truth, as far as Olaf was concerned.

Olaf listened quietly, the dark red risin’ in his cheeks bein’ about the only change in him. When the Friar finished, Olaf got off his hoss. “The’ won’t be need of any more trial,” sez he. “Kit, you go to the house.”

Kit started for the house, and the Friar asked Olaf what he intended to do.

“Kill ’em,” sez Olaf, “with my two hands.”

He unbuckled his belt and threw it on the ground, then kicked off his chaps, and stepped through the ring we had formed. “Stop,” said the Friar. “Olaf, I forbid this.”

“You had better go to the house, Friar,” said Olaf with pleadin’ in his voice. “Go in—please go in—an’ comfort Kit.”

The Friar made a rush, but we fended him off. The Greasers also tried to make a get-away; and between the three of ’em we were some busy; but it didn’t last long. When the Greasers saw they couldn’t break our ring, they turned on Olaf like cornered rats. They struck him and they choked him; but not once did he speak, and whenever his grip closed on their flesh, he ruined that part forever. It was a horrid sight; but I couldn’t have turned my eyes away if I’d wanted to. In the end he broke their necks, one after the other, and then he stood up straight and wiped his forehead. “I take the blame,” said he. “I take all the blame, here and hereafter”; which certainly was a square thing to do, though we hadn’t counted on it, any.