“Defend hell!” Big Medicine writhed in the restraining grasp of those who held him. “Look at that there! As good hearted a boy as ever turned a cow! Never harmed a soul in 'is life. Is all your dirty, stinkin' sheep, an' all your lousy herders, worth that boy's life? Yuh shot 'im down like a dog—lemme go, boys.” His voice was husky. “Lemme tromp the life outa him.”
“I thought you were killing my men, or I never—I never meant to—to kill—” Oleson, shaking till he could scarcely stand, broke down and wept; wept pitiably, hysterically, as men of a certain fiber will weep when black tragedy confronts them all unawares. He cowered miserably before the Happy Family, his face hidden behind his two hands.
“Boys, I want to say a word or two. Come over here.” Andy's voice, quiet as ever, contrasted strangely with the man's sobbing. He led them back a few paces—Weary, Cal, Big Medicine and Slim, and spoke hurriedly. The Native Son eyed them sidelong from his horse, but he was careful to keep Oleson covered with his gun—and the herders too, although they were unarmed. Once or twice he glanced at that long, ungainly figure in the grass with the handkerchief of Andy Green hiding the face except where a corner, fluttering in the faint breeze which came creeping out of the west, lifted now and then and gave a glimpse of sunbrowned throat and a quiet chin and mouth.
“Quit that blubbering, Oleson, and listen here.” Andys voice broke relentlessly upon the other's woe. “All these boys want to hang yuh without any red tape; far as I'm concerned, I'm dead willing. But we're going to give yuh a chance. Your partner, as we told yuh coming over, we've got the dead immortal cinch on, right now. And—well you can see what you're up against. But we'll give yuh a chance. Have you got any family?”
Oleson, trying to pull himself together, shook his head.
“Well, then, you can get rid of them sheep, can't yuh? Sell 'em, ship 'em outa here—we don't give a darn what yuh do, only so yuh get 'em off the range.”
“Y-yes, I'll do that.” Oleson's consent was reluctant, but it was fairly prompt. “I'll get rid of the sheep,” he said, as if he was minded to clinch the promise. “I'll do it at once.”
“That's nice.” Andy spoke with grim irony. “And you'll get rid of the ranch, too. You'll sell it to the Flying U—cheap.”
“But my partner—Whittaker might object—”
“Look here, old-timer. You'll fix that part up; you'll find a way of fixing it. Look here—at what you're up against.” He waited, with pointing finger, for one terrible minute. “Will you sell to the Flying U?”