There were some cool heads
among the mob leaders, and it was highly probable that negotiations
would be tried before that crowd hurled itself against two desperate
men, armed and entrenched. Both fugitives realized this, and lay there
coolly watchful, their breath growing more regular, their eyes
softening.
"Whut is all this fuss about, anyhow?" questioned the marshal,
evidently somewhat aggrieved. "I wus just eatin' dinner when a feller
stuck his head in an' yelled ye'd killed somebody over at the
Occidental."
Hampton turned his face gravely toward him. "Buck, I don't know
whether you'll believe me or not, but I guess you never heard me tell a
lie, or knew of my trying to dodge out of a bad scrape. Besides, I
have n't anything to gain now, for I reckon you 're planning to stay
with me, guilty or not guilty, but I did not kill that fellow. I don't
exactly see how I can prove it, the way it all happened, but I give you
my word as a man, I did not kill him."
Mason looked him squarely in the eyes, his teeth showing behind his
stiff, closely clipped mustache. Then he deliberately extended his
hand, and gripped Hampton's.
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