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 that, and I was marshal, I’d say: ‘Go free, and do your best to keep your promise.’”

“Lawsy!” exclaimed the old woman, in a sudden flutter, “ef I didn’t clear forget that trunk of mine! I see a man settin’ it on the platform jest as I seen son’s face in the window, and it went plum out of my head. There’s eight jars of home-made quince jam in that trunk that I made myself. I wouldn’t have nothin’ happen to them jars for a red apple.”

Away to the door she trotted, spry and anxious, and then Calliope Catesby spoke out to Buck Patterson:

“I just couldn’t help it, Buck. I seen her through the window a-comin’ in. She never had heard a word ’bout my tough ways. I didn’t have the nerve to let her know I was a worthless cuss bein’ hunted down by the community. There you was lyin’ where my shot laid you, like you was dead. The idea struck me sudden, and I just took your badge off and fastened it onto myself, and I fastened my reputation onto you. I told her I was the marshal and you was a holy terror. You can take your badge back now, Buck.”

With shaking fingers Calliope began to unfasten the disc of metal from his shirt.

“Easy there!” said Buck Patterson. “You keep that badge right where it is, Calliope Catesby. Don’t you dare to take it off till the day your mother leaves this town. You’ll be city marshal of Quicksand as long as she’s here to know it. After I stir