"Nice of yer ter declare yer intentions, Lacy," he admitted soberly,
"only it sorter looks as if yer didn't consider me as bein' much in the
way. I reckon yer outlined my duty all right; that's exactly my way o'
looking at it--ter keep the peace, an' take care o' them that raised
hell in Haskell. I couldn't 'a' told it no better myself."
"Then what are yer fightin' fer Westcott fer?"
"'Cause he's my prisoner, an' is goin' ter get a fair trial. If he was
the orneriest Mexican that ever come 'cross the line I'd stay with
him--that's the law."
"An' yer won't give him up?"
"Not in a thousand years, an' yer might as well save yer breath, Bill,
an' get out. I've told you straight, and I reckon you and your gang
know me. Nobody never told you that Dan Brennan was a quitter, did
they?"
"But you blame fool," and Lacy's voice plainly indicated his anger.
"You can't fight this whole camp; we'll get yer, dead or alive."
"Yer welcome ter try; I ain't askin' no sorter favour; only yer better
be blame keerful about it, fer my trigger finger appears ter be
almighty nervous ter-day--drop that!"
His hand shot out like lightning, the blue steel of his revolver
flashing.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263