It was therefore a crowd of hostile and lowering faces
which gathered around the carriage as it stopped in front of the
Capitan's house.
Aunt Ri's face was a ludicrous study of mingled terror, defiance,
and contempt. "Uv all ther low-down, no-'count, beggarly trash
ever I laid eyes on," she said in a low tone to Merrill, "I allow
these yere air the wust! But I allow they'd flatten us all aout in jest
abaout a minnit, if they wuz to set aout tew! Ef she ain't hyar, we
air in a scrape, I allow."
"Oh, they're friendly enough," laughed Merrill. "They're all stirred
up, now, about the killin' o' that Injun; that's what makes 'em look
so fierce. I don't wonder! 'Twas a derned mean thing Jim Farrar
did, a firin' into the man after he was dead. I don't blame him for
killin' the cuss, not a bit; I'd have shot any man livin' that 'ad taken
a good horse o' mine up that trail. That's the only law we stock
men've got out in this country. We've got to protect ourselves. But
it was a mean, low-lived trick to blow the feller's face to pieces
after he was dead; but Jim's a rough feller, 'n' I expect he was so
mad, when he see his horse, that he didn't know what he did.
Pages:
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708