VII
"Well, what is it?" said Hector.
Dandy Jack, the sixteen-year-old, angelical puncher, took off his broad-brimmed slouch hat and smoothed down his elegant clothes—wide, flapping leather chaps faced with silver, grey flannel shirt, spotless mauve silk neckerchief and trimmings.
"Demon George, Major."
"Yes." Hector was instantly alert. "What about him?"
"I know for a fact he stuck up a puncher last night. The puncher's too scart to report it."
"You do? Positive evidence?"
"You bet."
"All right. Go and tell the Sergeant-Major. Then send him over to me."
Dandy Jack departed.