As they approached the camp, the lights from the Eldorado flashed out through the darkness. There was a stir of excitement, and the buzz of shouting and singing.
Though the fact of Esmeralda’s presence was not generally known, the affair of the coach had become common property, and Three Star was up in arms. Every soul in the camp was collected in or about the saloon. Bill, Taffy, and the other men engaged in the business were surrounded by an excited crowd, eager for every detail, and vowing vengeance on Dog’s Ear. Varley’s name was on every lip, and shouts of, “Where is he?” “Where’s Varley?” rose above the din.
Esmeralda’s arm tightened round Varley’s waist.
“It’s the old noise, the old sound!” she whispered, tremulously.
“Yes; keep your hair on, little one,” he responded; for he could feel her trembling.
As they rode down to the door and came into the light that streamed from it, the crowd outside sent up a shout and pressed round him; but as they saw and recognized Esmeralda, the shout died away for an instant, then rose with redoubled force, and her name was cried aloud. Those inside the saloon rushed to the door, Taffy and Bill giving vent to their pent-up feelings by loud yells.
Varley dropped to the ground, and lifting Esmeralda in his arms, as he had so often done when she was a child, forced his way through the crowd to the end of the saloon, and then, with his arm around her, stood and faced them.
The din was indescribable. Everybody seemed to be speaking at once and trying to drown his neighbor’s voice.
Varley stood erect, a faint smile upon his clean-cut lips, his white hand, stained with blood, stroking his mustache and smoothing the closely cut gray hair at his temple—the, apparently, one calm man in the raging sea of human beings.
“Varley! Varley! Esmeralda! Esmeralda!” they shouted.