complied.

"All right," he is reported to have said. "Now, you measly hounds,
you've got just about twenty-eight seconds to make yourselves as scarce
as your virtues."

Maloney and his crew wasted few of the twenty-eight seconds in starting,
but once out of sight they regained much of their bravado. A few drinks
restored them to normal, and enabled them to put a good face on the
report they now made to their employers. Maloney and his friends then
visited in turn all the saloons. The drunker they grew, the louder they
talked, reviling the Committee collectively and singly, bragging that
they would shoot at sight Coleman, Truett, Durkee, and several others
whom they named. They flourished weapons publicly, and otherwise became
obstreperous. The Committee decided that their influence was bad and
instructed Sterling Hopkins, with four others, to arrest the lot and
bring them in.

The news of this determination reached the offending parties. They
immediately fled to their masters like cur dogs. Their masters, who
included Terry, Bowie, and a few others, happened to be discussing the
situation in the office of Richard Ashe, a Texan. The crew burst into
this gathering very much scared, with a statement that a "thousand
stranglers" were at their heels. Hopkins, having left his small posse at
the foot of the stairs, knocked and entered the room. He was faced by
the muzzles of half a dozen pistols and told to get out of there.
Hopkins promptly obeyed.

If Terry had possessed the slightest degree of leadership he would have
seen that this was the worst of all moments to precipitate a crisis. The