“You have me covered, sir. My hand is in the discard.” He composedly tucked the derringer into his waistcoat pocket again. “That gentleman struck me; he was about to draw on me, and by rights I might have killed him. My apologies for this little disturbance.”
He bestowed a challenging look upon me, a hard unforgiving look upon the lady; with a bow he turned for his hat, and stepping swiftly went back to his table.
Now in the reaction I fought desperately against a trembling of the knees; there were congratulations, a hubbub of voices assailing me—and the arm of the teamster through mine and his bluff invitation:
“Come and have a drink.”
“But you’ll return. You must. I want to speak with you.” 130
It was My Lady, pleading earnestly. I still could scarcely utter a word; my brain was in a smother. My new friend moved me away from her. He answered for me.
“Not until we’ve had a little confab, lady. We’ve got matters of importance jest at present.”
I saw her bite her lips, as she helplessly flushed; her blue eyes implored me, but I had no will of my own and I certainly owed a measure of courtesy to this man who had saved my life.