“Trial—hell!” he declared, “you’ve destroyed the evidence.”
Harlan wheeled, to see Deveny standing near. And for an instant as their eyes met—Harlan’s level and cold, Deveny’s aflame with a hostility unmistakable—the crowd which had witnessed the shooting of Laskar again became motionless, while a silence, portending further violence, descended over the street.
Then Deveny abruptly wheeled and began to walk across to the First Chance.
He had not taken many steps, however, when there were sounds of commotion farther down the street toward the Eating-House—a man cursing and a girl screaming.
Deveny halted and faced the point from which the sounds came, and a scowl appeared on his face.
Harlan wheeled, also. And he saw, at a little distance down the street, a girl running, her hair tossing in a mass around her, her eyes wild with fright and terror. Behind her came a man, cursing as he ran.
Harlan heard Sheriff Gage curse, too—heard him say:
“That’s Lane Morgan’s daughter—Barbara! What in hell is she doin’ here?”
The girl, not more than a dozen feet ahead of her pursuer, ran straight toward Harlan. And when—as she drew closer and he saw that she was, indeed, actually coming toward him—her eyes on him as though she had singled him out as a protector—he advanced toward her, drawing one of his guns as he went.
And, grinning as she neared him, he opened his arms wide and she ran straight into them, and laid her head on his shoulder, sobbing, and talking incoherently. While Harlan, his grin fading as he looked at her pursuer—who had halted within half a dozen paces of the girl—commanded lowly: