“It would be interesting to know whether or not we are prisoners,” he growled.
“When yer feel like beginnin’ the row we can find out that.”
“I should feel as though shooting at children to fire into this crowd.”
“Thet’s what they be––jus’ so many naked kids; but Lord, they can swing knives like men if they’re like sim’lar children I’ve seen.”
“We’re losing valuable time. We might make another move and try to shoulder our way through until the knives appear and then–––”
He was interrupted by a movement in the crowd. The men fell back to make a path for a tall, lank figure who stepped forward with some show of dignity. Both Wilson and Stubbs exclaimed with one breath:
“The Priest!”
To Wilson he was the man who had tried to kill him in the dark, the man again whom he in his turn had tried to kill. He reached for his holster, but he saw that even now the man did not recognize him. The priest, however, had detected the movement.
“There are too many of us,” he smiled, raising a warning finger. “But no harm is meant.”