“You kin save your compliments—”
“If you want her to stop crying, stop doing things to make her,” Jim snapped angrily.
“You’re a big coward.” He turned to Mrs. Gonzalas. “Don’t you be afraid of him, or any of them, don’t let them throw a scare into you now! You just grin and pretty soon things won’t seem half so bad.” Jim didn’t like to see a woman cry, or a girl—anyone for that matter and he was mighty earnest about wanting Mrs. Gonzalas to dry her tears. He was standing beside her, and Pedro looked up at him with deep appreciation in his eyes.
“You are good—see Mio—Senor Jim Austin. In his land, the big Texas, he busts cows and broncs—wears a big hat to hold his head, and throws a rope so well Senor Bill Rogers goes out of business.”
“Oh, blubbering whales—say—when you come to Texas I’ll get Dad to show you how a lariat should be thrown,” Jim interposed. At their united efforts, Mrs. Gonzalas looked from one to the other, blinked rapidly and although her hand trembled on her husband’s arm, her lips parted in a smile. She controlled herself courageously, stifling the sobs, and out of the corner of his eye, Austin saw the guard step back as if satisfied that the prisoner would soon be comforted.
“In a large hat—big enough for your President—you look well,” Arto helped, but his hand was gripped in his belt and by the pressure of his fingers on the buckle they knew that he longed for the minute when he could get them on the throats of the men responsible for their difficulties and his sister-in-law’s suffering.
“Last stop,” the Admiral bellowed.
“All out.”
“Only they ain’t leaving without some decorations.” He produced clanking hand-cuffs. One pair he put on Pedro and his wife, and with the other he secured Jim and Arto together.
“Now you look more ‘folksy’. Get a move on.”