Bill looked down and turned the glass on the table around and around. He looked up again and smiled, but his brows contracted as he went on—“We had words then, sure enough. All of a sudden Bohm made a lunge and caught the handkerchief round my neck with one hand and reached for somethin’ with the other, and the first thing I knew he was slashin’ at me with a pocket knife. I guess I saw red then, ’cause I knocked him down and nearly pounded the life out of him.”
Bill stopped a moment—“His eyes was rollin’ back in his head and his tongue was hangin’ out and there was a pool of blood ’round us, three yards across.” Bill’s description was so vivid I shut my eyes. “I reckon I’d killed him if Ted hadn’t tromped my legs and kinda brought me to myself. He’d oughter been killed, but I let him up then and told Ted to go for my rope. We tied his hands and legs. I guess he had about all he wanted for he wasn’t strugglin’ much.” Bill smiled grimly. “We carried him into the cabin, and there was the Mexican lying in his bunk—doped. We knew who done it all right, and I tell you we didn’t handle Bohm like no suckin’ infant when we laid him down, neither.”
Bill’s face was stern and set and I shared his indignation too much to trust myself to speak.
“We left him there and went to get the wheat out of the way before we opened the corral gates for the sheep. Thanks to Ted, Bohm hadn’t had time to put much around. He’s a great little kid, that boy.” Bill’s voice broke.
“Bless his heart,” I said, my own heart filled with gratitude and tenderness for the plucky little chap in the other room. Bill’s eyes were moist, but his voice was steady again.
“Steve and Charley came up just then with the supply wagon, so Steve set Charley to herd the sheep. We loaded Bohm into the wagon and Steve took him over to the railroad. He said he’d see he got on the train all right.” Bill grinned, “You’re rid of Bohm for good now, Mrs. Brook, for I kinda think he gathered from what me and Steve said the ranch wouldn’t be no health resort for him if he ever showed his ugly face round here again.”
“Oh, Bill, I’m so thankful; it makes me sick when I think what might have happened.”
“Don’t thank me, Mrs. Brook, I ain’t done nothin’.” Bill’s face was red with embarrassment as he stood up. “Ted’s the one to thank, he’s some kid, believe me,” and Bill’s eyes were very tender.
“Let’s go in and see how he’s making it.” Bill followed me into the room.
Ted was sitting up on the couch, regarding his battered visage in my hand-glass with the greatest interest. I could see at once he was in no mood for emotion or petting.