"Of course I believe ye. Not that you
're any too blame good, Bob, but you ain't the kind what pleads the
baby act. Who was the feller?"
"Red Slavin."
"No!" and the hand grip perceptibly tightened. "Holy Moses, what
ingratitude! Why, the camp ought to get together and give ye a vote of
thanks, and instead, here they are trying their level best to hang you.
Cussedest sorter thing a mob is, anyhow; goes like a flock o' sheep
after a leader, an' I bet I could name the fellers who are a-runnin'
that crowd. How did the thing happen?"
Both men were intently observing the ingathering of their scattered
pursuers, but Hampton answered gravely, telling his brief story with
careful detail, appreciating the importance of reposing full confidence
in this quiet, resourceful companion. The little marshal was all grit,
nerve, faithfulness to duty, from his head to his heels.
"All I really saw of the fellow," he concluded, "was a hand and arm as
they drove in the knife. You can see there where it ripped me, and the
unexpected blow of the man's body knocked me forward, and of course I
fell on Slavin. It may be I drove the point farther in when I came
down, but that was an accident.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274