“Do you see that ridge about three miles west? well, if we catch you on this side of it we will hang you like wild cats. On the other side of it do what you like, and try all you know; but this gully belongs to us now; you wanted to take something from us that did not belong to you—our blood—so now we take something from you that didn't belong to us a minute or two ago. Come, mizzle, and no more words, or—” and he pointed the tail of his discourse with his revolver.
The men rose, and with sullen, rueful, downcast looks moved off in the direction of the boundary; but one remained behind, the man was Jem.
“Well!”
“Captain, I wish you would let me join in with you!”
“What for?”
“Well, captain, you've lent me your wipe, and I think a deal of it, for it's what I did not deserve; but that is not all. You are the best man, and I like to be under the best man if I must be under anybody.”
Robinson hesitated a moment. “Come here,” said he. The man came and fronted him. “Look me in the face! now give me your hand—quick, no thinking about how.” The man gave him his hand readily. Robinson looked into his eyes. “What is your name?”
“Jem.”
“Jem, we take you on trial.”
Jem's late companions, who perfectly comprehended what was passing, turned and hooted the deserter; Jem, whose ideas of repartee were primitive, turned and hooted them in reply.