“ ‘Have you the usual and necessary requisition papers from the governor of your state?’ asks the judge.

“ ‘My usual papers,’ says Luke, ‘was taken away from me at the hotel by these gentlemen who represent law and order in your city. They was two Colt’s ·45’s that I’ve packed for nine years; and if I don’t get ’em back, there’ll be more trouble. You can ask anybody in Mojada County about Luke Summers. I don’t usually need any other kind of papers for what I do.’

“I see the judge looks mad, so I steps up and says:

“ ‘Your Honour, the aforesaid defendant, Mr. Luke Summers, sheriff of Mojada County, Texas, is as fine a man as ever threw a rope or upheld the statutes and codicils of the greatest state in the Union. But he—’

“The judge hits his table with a wooden hammer and asks who I am.

“ ‘Bud Oakley,’ says I. ‘Office deputy of the sheriff’s office of Mojada County, Texas. Representing,’ says I, ‘the Law. Luke Summers,’ I goes on, ‘represents Order. And if Your Honour will give me about ten minutes in private talk, I’ll explain the whole thing to you, and show you the equitable and legal requisition papers which I carry in my pocket.’

“The judge kind of half smiles and says he will talk with me in his private room. In there I put the whole up to him in such language as I had, and when we goes outside, he announces the verdict that the young man is delivered into the hands of the Texas authorities; and calls the next case.

“Skipping over much of what happened on the way back, I’ll tell you how the thing wound up in Bildad.

“When we got the prisoner in the sheriff’s office I says to Luke:

“ ‘You remember that kid of yours—that two-year-old that they stole away from you when the bust-up come?’

“Luke looks black and angry. He’d never let anybody talk to him about that business, and he never mentioned it himself.

“ ‘Toe the mark,’ says I. ‘Do you remember when he was toddling around on the porch and fell down on a pair of Mexican spurs and cut four little holes over his right eye? Look at the prisoner,’ says I, ‘look at his nose and the shape of his head and—why, you old fool, don’t you know your own son?—I knew him,’ says I, ‘when he perforated Mr. Johnson at the depot.’

“Luke comes over to me shaking all over. I never saw him lose his nerve before.

“ ‘Bud,’ says he, ‘I’ve never had that boy out of my mind one day or one night since he was took away. But I never let on. But can we hold him?—Can we make him stay?—I’ll make the best man of him that ever put his foot in a stirrup. Wait a minute,’ says he, all excited and out of his mind—‘I’ve got something here in my desk—I reckon it’ll hold legal yet—I’ve looked at it a thousand times—“Cus-to-dy of the child,” ’ says Luke—‘ “Cus-to-dy of the child.” We can hold him on that, can’t we? Le’me see if I can find that decree.’

“Luke begins to tear his desk to pieces.

“ ‘Hold on,’ says I. ‘You are Order and I’m Law. You needn’t look for that paper, Luke. It ain’t a decree any more. It’s requisition papers. It’s on file in that Magistrates’ office in New York. I took it along when we went, because I was office deputy and knew the law.’

“ ‘I’ve got him back,’ says Luke. ‘He’s mine again. I never thought—’