“What has happened?” she asked him as he tore open a box and began pushing the shells, one by one, into his belt.
“Fred De Garmo—he tried to arrest me—in town—I shot him dead,” He glanced furtively at Kent. “Can I take your horse, Kent? I want to get across the river before—”
“You shot—Fred—” Val was staring at him stupidly. He whirled savagely toward her.
“Yes, and I'd shoot any man that walked up and tried to take me. He was a fool if he thought all he had to do was crook his finger and say 'Come along.' It was over those calves—and I'd say you had a hand in it, if I hadn't found that calf, and saw how you burned out the brand before you turned it loose. You might have told me—I wouldn't have—” He shifted his gaze toward Kent. “The hell of it is, the sheriff happened to be in town for something; he's back a couple of miles—for God's sake, move! And get that flour and bacon, and some matches. I've got to get across the river. I can shake 'em off, on the other side. Hurry, Val!”
She went out into the kitchen, and they heard her moving about, collecting the things he needed.
“I'll have to take your horse, Kent.” Manley turned to him with a certain wheedling tone, infinitely disgusting to the other. “Mine's all in—I rode him down, getting this far. I've got to get across the river, and into the hills the other side—I can dodge 'em over there. You can have my horse—he's good as yours, anyway.” He seemed to fed a slight discomfort at Kent's silence. “You've always stood by me—anyway, it wasn't so much my fault—he came at me unawares, and says 'Man Fleetwood, you're my prisoner!' Why, the very tone of him was an insult—and I won't stand for being arrested—I pulled my gun and got him through the lungs—heard 'em yelling he was dead—Hurry up with that grub! I can't wait here till—”
“I ought to tell you Michael's no good for water,” Kent forced himself to say. “He's liable to turn back on you; he's scared of it.”
“He won't turn back with me—not with old Jake Bondy at my heels!” Manley snatched the bag of provisions from Val when she appeared, and started for the door.
“You better leave off some of that hardware, then,” Kent advised perfunctorily. “You're liable to have to swim.”
“I don't care how I get across, just so—” A panic seemed to seize him then. Without a word of thanks or farewell he rushed out, threw himself into Kent's saddle without taking time to tie on his bundle of bacon and flour, or remembering the blanket he had asked for. Holding his provisions under his arm, his rifle in one hand, and his reins clutched in the other, he struck the spurs home and raced down the coulee toward the river. Fred and Polycarp had not troubled to put up the wire gate after emptying the river field, so he had a straight run of it to the very river bank. The two stood together at the window and watched him go.