There are some natures so stern and rugged that they lean against a storm like sturdy, wind-nourished pines, throwing back their arms, shaking their rough heads, and making strength from the elemental strife. Of such an enduring breed was Pecos Dalhart and as he stood before the judge, square-jawed, eagle-eyed, with his powerful shoulders thrown back, he cursed the law that held him more than the men who had sworn him into jail. But behind that law stood every man of the commonwealth, and who could fight them all, lone-handed? Lowering his head he submitted, as in ancient days the conquered barbarians bowed to the Roman yoke, but there was rebellion in his heart and he resolved when the occasion offered to make his dream of the revolution a waking reality. The deputy who led him over to jail seemed to sense his prisoner's mood and left him strictly alone, showing the way in silence until they entered the sheriff's office.
The reception room to the suite of burglar-proof apartments familiarly known as the Hotel de Morgan was a spacious place, luxuriously furnished with lounging chairs and cuspidors and occupied at the moment by Boone Morgan, a visiting deputy, three old-timers, and a newspaper reporter. The walls were decorated with a galaxy of hard-looking pictures labelled "Escaped" and "Reward," many of which had written across their face "Caught," and some "Killed"; there was a large desk in the corner, a clutter of daily papers on the floor, and the odor of good cigars. Upon the arrival of Pecos Dalhart the sheriff was engaged in telling a story, which he finished. Then he turned in his swivel-chair, sorted out a pen and opened a big book on the desk.
"Mr. Dalhart, I believe," he said, smiling a little grimly.
Pecos grunted, and the deputy taking the cue, began a systematic search of his pockets.
"Grand larceny—held for the grand jury," he supplemented, and the sheriff wrote it down in the book thoughtfully.
"Sorry I can't give you the bridal chamber, Mr. Dalhart," he continued, "but it's occupied by a check-raiser; and I wouldn't think of puttin' a cowman in the jag-cell with all them sheep-herders—so I'll have to give you Number Six, on the first floor front. Pretty close quarters there now, but you'll have all the more company on that account, and I'll guarantee the boys will make you welcome." He paused and winked at the reporter, who sharpened a pencil and laughed. Boone Morgan's Kangaroo Court was a local institution which gave him a great deal of josh copy in the course of a year and he lit a cigar and waited to observe Pecos Dalhart's reception. The kangaroo _alcalde_ or judge was a horse-thief, the sheriff was a noted strong-arm man from the East, the district attorney was an ex-lawyer taking a graduate course in penology, and altogether they made a very taking _dramatis personæ_ for little knockdown skits on court-house life.