“That’ll be about all!” he snapped. “Drop this where it is.”
“I’m not dropping it!” panted Douglas. “Man-handling girls may get by down where you come from, but it doesn’t go with me. Officers? Pah! You cheap thugs——”
“That’ll do!” Ward repeated. “You listen to me a minute.”
His steady gaze, his resolute tone, his quiet authority, had their effect. Despite himself, Douglas respected the man. He stood still.
“I ain’t blamin’ you,” Ward continued evenly. “You act like a man. But the girl brought it on herself—and she ain’t hurt a bit. Bill oughtn’t have grabbed her, maybe, but that’s his way. I don’t like it myself—him and me have had words about that kind of stuff before—but the girl ain’t hurt and she wouldn’t be hurt, whether you butted in or not. We only asked her somethin’ about the road, and she sassed us and tried to shove Bill off into the ditch. He grabbed her hands and told her to learn some manners, and then she tried to fight him, so naturally he hung onto her. That’s all there is to it. I’d drop it, if I was you.”
Douglas looked at her. True enough, she showed no sign of hurt, except perhaps to her vivid temper. Ward’s straightforward manner was convincing. So were the memories of his own denunciation by the girl on the night when he had met her and of her fiery fight that morning to regain her sketch. And so were the words of Marion herself.
“You big hog!” she flared, holding the gun pointed at Bill as if aching to use it. “You better git outen the Traps and stay out! My manners are good enough for me and my folks, and if you wasn’t brought up to give other folks half of the road you can’t learn me anything. You keep on actin’ like you started, and somebody’ll shoot some manners into you, I shouldn’t wonder. I’ve got a good mind to do it my own self!”
Under the lash of her tongue, the blaze of her eyes, and the menace of the twin muzzles yawning at his midriff, Bill blinked rapidly and stepped backward. Ward too looked uneasy—for an angry woman and a gun make a decidedly dangerous combination; the more so, because the woman may shoot without actually realizing what she is doing.
“That gun loaded?” he muttered to Douglas.
“Sure. But the safety’s on and she doesn’t know the mechanism. Of course, she might accidentally slip it, and then—your pal wouldn’t look very good. I’d advise you two to make tracks down the road and keep on making them. And one word more to you, Ward. You talk straight, and I’ll let this drop for now; but you’d better pick another running-mate before you go again among hill people. This man might do as a Bowery cop or a prison guard, but he’s no good in wildcat country.”