“You will take this man with you into your side room and stop with him there,” he said. “Dane, give him the bills. The rest of you had better sit down here and make a list of your losses, and you’ll get whatever the fellow has upon him divided amongst you. Then, because I ask you, and you’d have had nothing but for me, you’ll put him in his wagon and turn him out quietly upon the prairie.”
“That’s sense, and we don’t want no circus here,” said somebody.
A few voices were raised in protest, but when it became evident that one or two of the company were inclined to adopt more draconic measures, Dane spoke quietly and forcibly, and was listened to. Then Witham reached out and grasped the shoulder of the English lad, who made the last attempt to rouse his companions.
“Let them alone, Ferris, and come along. You’ll get most of what you lost back to-morrow, and we’re going to take you home,” he said.
Ferris turned upon him, hoarse with passion, flushed in face, and swaying a trifle on his feet, while Witham noticed that he drew one arm back.
“Who are you to lay hands on a gentleman?” he asked. “Keep your distance. I’m going to stay here, and, if I’d have had my way, we’d have kicked you out of Silverdale.”
Witham dropped his hand, but next moment the ornament of a distinguished family was seized by the neck, and the farmer glanced at Dane.
“We’ve had enough of this fooling, and he’ll be grateful to me to-morrow,” he said.
Then his captive was thrust, resisting strenuously, out of the room, and with Dane’s assistance conveyed to the waiting wagon, into which he was flung, almost speechless with indignation.
“Now,” said Dane quietly, “you’ve given us a good deal more trouble than you’re worth, Ferris, and if you attempt to get out again, I’ll break your head for you. Tell Courthorne how much that fellow got from you.”