Shoop smiled.  He had stirred the musty marshal to a show of feeling.  The marshal, who had keyed himself up to make the thrust, was disappointed.  He made that mistake, common to his kind, of imagining that he could continue that sort of thing with impunity.

“You come prancin’ into this town with a strange woman, sayin’ that she is the wife of the defendant.  Can you tell me how her name is Adams and his’n is Waring?”

“I can!” And with a motion so swift that the marshal had no time to help himself, Bud Shoop seized the other’s goatee and yanked him from the cracker barrel.  “I got a job for you,” said Shoop, grinning until his teeth showed.

And without further argument on his part, he led the marshal through the store and up the street to his own house.  The marshal back-paddled and struggled, but he had to follow his chin.

Mrs. Adams answered Bud’s knock.  Bud jerked the marshal to his knees.

“Apologize to this lady—­quick!”

“Why, Mr. Shoop!”

“Yes, it’s me, Annie.  Talk up, you pizen lizard!”

“But, Bud, you’re hurting him!”

“Well, I didn’t aim to feed him ice-cream.  Talk up, you Gila monster—­and talk quick!”

“I apologize,” mumbled the marshal.

Bud released him and wiped his hand on his trousers.

“Sticky!” he muttered.

The marshal shook his fist at Bud.  “You’re under arrest for disturbin’ the peace.  You’re under arrest!”

“What does it mean?” queried Mrs. Adams.

“Nothin’ what he ain’t swallowed, Annie.  Gosh ’mighty, but I wasted a lot of steam on that there walkin’ clothes-rack!  The blamed horn toad says he’s holdin’ Jim for shootin’ the Brewsters.”

“But he can’t,” said Mrs. Adams.  “Wait a minute; I’ll be right out.  Sit down, Bud.  You are tired out and nervous.”

Bud sat down heavily.  “Gosh!  I never come so clost to pullin’ a gun in my life.  If he was a man, I reckon I’d ‘a’ done it.  What makes me mad is that I let him get me mad.”

When Mrs. Adams came out to the porch she had a vest in her hand.  Inside the vest was pinned the little, round badge of a United States marshal.  Bud seized the vest, and without waiting to listen to her he plodded down the street and marched into the general store, where the town marshal was talking to a group of curious natives.

“Can you read?” said Bud, and without waiting for an answer shoved the little silver badge under the marshal’s nose.  “The law is the law,” said Bud.  “And that there vest belongs to Jim Waring.”

Bud had regained his genial smile.  He was too full of the happy discovery to remain silent.