“Don’t shoot him, Del. But what’ll we do with this, now we got it?”
The men on guard saw the sudden commotion. A half dozen came, jerking up, ropes a-swing, eager. A vast Cossack laughter rose when Nabours explained.
“Prop up a cart tongue!” called Len Hersey.
But the victim now noted the sudden apparition of a slender figure astride a singular white-hipped horse, coming up at a gallop.
“What’s this, men?” demanded Taisie. “What are you doing there?”
“Ma’am,” said Jim Nabours, now more calm, “we ain’t doing nothing much. We’re just going to hang a damned thief that wants to colleck two bits a head on our cows for swimming the Red River.”
“But what—but why?” Taisie’s own brow puckered.
Jameson found speech, even in his surprise, for now he saw this was no slender boy at all.
“Madam,” said he, a noose lying on his shoulder and one hand at it, “these men have resisted the law. I am the lawful inspector for this district. I have come here in the pursuit of my duty.”
“You’ve got a dangerous duty,” said Taisie Lockhart straitly. Her own soul was Texan. “Inspect us, charge us—for what?”