“Good God!” breathed Blake, staring at the marksman, who had stepped forward and was explaining to Humble. “It’s a good thing Shields was square!” he muttered.
“Did you see that?” asked Bud of Jim in whispered awe. “And I thought I was some beans with a six-shooter!”
“No, but I heard it–was they one or six?” replied Jim.
“I didn’t know it was you, Humble,” explained The Orphan. “I thought it was the Chink laying for the dog.”
“–– ––! Good for you!” cried Humble in sudden friendliness. “You’re all right, Orphant, but will you be sure next time? That stung like blazes,” he said as he held out his hand. “I can always tell a white man by the way he treats a dog. If all men were as good as dogs this world would be a blamed sight nicer place to live in, and don’t you forget it.”
“Still going to take Lightning with you, Humble?” asked Bud.
“No, I ain’t going to take Lightning with me!” snapped Humble. “I’m going to leave him right here on the ranch,” here his voice arose to a roar, “and if any sing-song, rope-haired, animated hash-wrastler gets gay while I’m gone, I’ll send him to his heathen hell!”
“Come on, boys,” said Blake, snapping his watch shut. “Time to get going.”
“Glory be!” exulted Silent, executing a few fancy steps toward the corral, his companions close behind, with the exception of The Orphan, who had gone into the bunk house for a minute.
As they whooped their way toward the town Blake noticed that a gold pin glittered at the knot of the new recruit’s neck-kerchief, and he chuckled when he recalled the warning he had given to the sheriff. He shrewdly guessed that the apricot pie and the rest of the feast were quite subordinated by The Orphan to the girl who had given him the pin.