Before The Orphan could reply, Bill saw a break in the conversation, or thought he did, and hastened to say something, for he felt unnatural.
“I got yore smokin’, Orphant!” he cried, clambering up to his seat. “Leastawise, I had before them war-whoops–yep! Here she is, right side up and fine and dandy!”
Could he have seen the look which the outlaw flashed at him he would have quailed with sudden fear. Three gasps arose in chorus, and the women drew back from the outlaw, fearful and shocked and severe. But with the sheriff’s younger sister it was only momentarily, for she quickly recovered herself and the look of fear left her eyes. So this, then, was the dreaded Orphan, the outlaw of whom her brother had written! This young, sinewy, good-looking man, who had swayed so unsteadily on his feet, was the man the stories of whose outrages had filled the pages of Eastern newspapers and magazines! Could he possibly be guilty of the murders ascribed to him? Was he capable of the inhumanity which had made his name a synonym of terror? As she wondered, torn by conflicting thoughts, he looked at her unflinchingly, and his thin lips wore a peculiar smile, cynical and yet humorous.
Bill leaped to the ground with the smoking tobacco and, blissfully unconscious of what he had done, continued unruffled.
“That was d––n fine–begging the ladies’ pardon,” he cried. “Yes sir, it was plumb sumptious, it shore was! And when I tell the sheriff how you saved his sisters, he’ll be some tickled! You just bet he will! And I’ll tell it right, too! Just leave the telling of it to me. Lord, when I looked back to see how far them war-whoops were from my back hair, and saw you tearing along like you was a shore enough express train, I just had to yell, I was so tickled. It was just like I held a pair of deuces in a big jack-pot and drew two more! My, but didn’t I feel good! And, say–whenever you run out of smoking again, you just flag Bill Howland’s chariot: you can have all he’s got. That’s straight, you bet! Bill Howland don’t forget a turn like that, never.”
The enthusiasm he looked for did not materialize and he glanced from one to another as he realized that something was up.
“Come, dears, let us go,” said Mary Shields, lifting her skirts and abruptly turning her back on the outlaw. “We evidently have far to go, and we have wasted so much time. Come, Grace,” she said to her friend, stepping toward the coach.
Bill stared and wondered how much time had been wasted, since never before had he reached that point in so short a time. He had made two miles to every one at his regular speed.
“Come, Helen!” came the command from the elder, and with a trace of surprise and impatience.
“Sister! Why, Mary, how can you be so mean!” retorted the girl with the black eyes, angry and indignant at the unkindness of the cut, her face flushing at its injustice. Her spirit was up in arms immediately and she deliberately walked to The Orphan and impulsively held out her hand, her sister’s words deciding the doubts in her mind in the outlaw’s favor.