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surged hooting and yelling about the coach in which the prisoners were held.

"Where's Rudabaugh?" shouted the blood-mad citizens. "String him up to a telegraph pole."

"Hang Billy the Kid, too."

"Make a clean sweep and lynch 'em all."

While the crowd stormed outside, Garrett turned to Billy the Kid, who sat in his seat without sign of perturbation looking out a window with half-smiling, curious interest.

"Billy," he said, "it looks ugly. If they rush the door, I'm going to take off your handcuffs and give you a six-shooter and I'll expect you to help stand them off."

"All right, Pat," returned the Kid cheerfully. "You and I can lick 'em all. I'll guarantee to kill a man with every bullet."

Garrett's appeal to the outlaw in this desperate crisis showed clearly the estimate he placed upon Billy the Kid as a fighting man.

Leaving East and Emory to guard the prisoners, Garrett stepped out on the platform alone and faced the howling, swirling mob. He raised his hand for silence.

"Take my advice, men," he said. "Don't break the law yourselves. Play the part of good citizens. Go back to your homes. The law will take care of these men. As an officer of the law, I am here to protect them and I'm going to do it. You can't take any of these men away from me, and if you try, some of you are going to be killed."

The mob greeted the speech with curses and crushed forward. Several clutched at the platform rails, swung upon the car steps, but fell back when they looked into the muzzle of Garrett's revolver. Suddenly the train be-