“What in the name of the horn-headed Sancho do you think you can do all alone against guns?” demanded Vittum, scornfully.
“Think?” repeated Latisan. “I’ve had plenty of time for thinking on my way up here. Let me alone, I say!”
Lida went to him and put her hand on his arm, and he trembled; it seemed almost like a caress. But by no tenderness in his eyes or his expression was he indicating that he considered himself back on his former footing with her.
“Miss Kennard, don’t keep me from trying to square myself with the Flagg crew, if I can. I’m not hoping that anything can square me with you; it’s past hope.”
He moved away, but she clung to him. “I must know what you intend to do. I’ll not accept a reckless sacrifice—no, I’ll not.”
“One evening in Adonia you gave me a lecture on duty and self-respect, Miss Kennard. I wish I’d taken your advice then. But that advice has never left my thoughts. I’m taking it now. I entreat you, don’t let me shame myself again. This is before men,” he warned her, in low tones. “Give me my fighting chance to make good with them—I beg you!”
He set back his shoulders, turned from her, and shouted Craig’s name till the Comas director replied.
“Craig, yon in the fog! Do you hear?”
“I hear you, Latisan!”
“Do our logs go through Skulltree by your decent word to us?”