It was this bit of brutality which enabled her to single out Winton in the throng of workers. He heard the blow, and the oath that went with it, and she saw him run forward to wrench the bludgeon from the bully's hands and fling it afar. What words emphasized the act she could not hear, but the little deed of swift justice thrilled her curiously, and her heart warmed to him as it had when he had thrown off his coat to fall to work on the derailed engine of the Limited.
“That was fine!” she said to herself. “Most men in his place wouldn't care, so long as the work was done, and done quickly. I wonder if—oh, you startled me!”
It was Mr. Somerville Darrah again, clothed upon and in his right mind; otherwise the mind of a master of men who will brook neither defeat at the hands of an antagonist nor disobedience on the part of his following. He was scowling fiercely across at the Utah activities when she spoke, but at her exclamation the frown softened into a smile for his favorite niece.
“Startled you, eh? Pahdon me, my deah Virginia. But as I am about to startle some one else, perhaps you would better go in to your aunt.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Please let me stay out here, Uncle Somerville,” she said. “I'll be good and not get in the way.”
He shook his head, in deprecation rather than in refusal.
“An officer will be here right soon now to make an arrest. There may be a fight, or at least trouble of a sort you wouldn't care to see, my deah.”
“Is it—is it Mr. Winton?” she asked.
He nodded.
“What has he been doing—besides being 'The Enemy'?”