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<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> <h3>IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE</h3> It used to be a great sight down at Holy Cross when the vaqueros came back from the round-up, serapes flapping in the wind, hats waving, guns popping, ponies tearing around, and eating up the ground. And then the house folk came swarming out to meet them, the little boys and dogs in a shouting heap, the girls bunched together and squealing, the young wives laughing, the old mothers, the tottering granddads, all plumb joyful to welcome the riders home. So they would mix up, crowd through the gates, and on the stable court to see a beef shot for the feast. Presently the little boys would come out in the dusk of the evening, bareback to herd the ponies through the pasture gate, and scamper back barefoot to the house in time for supper. All night long the lamps were alight in the great hall, the guitars a-strumming, and young feet dancing, and last, at the break of dawn, the chapel bell would call for early mass. But this was the last home-coming for the folks at Holy Cross, and far away across the desert Jim's riders heard the bell—the minute bell tolling soft for the dead. The people met them at the gates, but all the boys uncovered, riding slow. No beef would be killed that night, no lights would shine, no guitars would strum for the dance. Inside the main gate Jim's servant took his horse, and the lad walked on with clashing spurs to meet the old padre at the door of the dining-hall. "Take off your spurs," said the priest, "come softly." So he followed the padre across the bare, whitewashed dining-hall, and on along the cloister of the palm tree court. He heard the death-cry keening out of the shadows, the bell tolled, and he went on through the dark rooms, until he came to the señora, with women kneeling about the bed, and candles lighted at her head and feet. <hr style="width: 45%;" /> The daybreak was bitter cold when Jim came out into the palm tree court, shivering while he watched the little, far-up clouds flushed with the dawn. He felt that something was all wrong in the house, with the hollow echoes, every time he moved, crashing back from out of the dark. Then in the black darkness of the rooms he saw a lighted candle moving, slow through the air. "Who's there!" he shouted, and at that the light came straight at him with something grey behind. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Then he saw it was Sheriff Bryant. "Easy, boy, easy!" says Dick in his slow Texan drawl; "I cal'late, Jim, we may as well have coffee, eh, boy?" So he led Jim into the dining-hall, where he had cooked some coffee on the brazier. He set his candle down on the long table, and beside it a stick of sealing-wax and a bundle of tape. "Why, sheriff," says Jim, "what do you want with these?" "Take yo' coffee, son. It's cold this mawnin'." Jim fell to sipping his coffee, while old Dick sat crouched down over the brazier. "My old woman's been here this fortnight past," he said, "and I collected a doctor of sorts." "You never sent for father, or for me." "I had reasons, boy, good reasons. Jim, thar's trouble a-comin', and you've got to face it manful." "Oh, speak out!" "As I says to my ole woman only yesterday, I'd have loaned the money myself to yo' poh mother, only I don't have enough to lend to a dawg." "What do you mean?" "I couldn't turn the po' lady out of her home, so I got a stay of execution from the Court, to give her time to escape. She's done escaped now, and I got to act." "Sheriff!" "Yes, I'm sheriff, and I'd rather break a laig. But I'm the People's servant, Jim, and my awdehs is to seize this hull estate, in the name o' the People." "To seize this house!" "To turn you and all yo' servants out of Holy Crawss, and put the People's seal on the front gate." "Sheriff, you can't!" "Boy, take this writ." Jim took the paper, spread it out, and read— "Jim," said the sheriff, "we must bury this lady first. Then you want to take the best hawss you've got, while I'm not looking, and ride to my home. Yo're mo' than welcome thar." "Who's done this thing?" "Yo' father's debts." "Don't beat about the bush—who's done this thing?" "George Ryan." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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