“Mr. Britt, things have been mixed for me in this world till I don’t hardly know what is right. I’ve tried to do my duty as it’s been laid out for me. But in climbing up to it there’s some things I haven’t got the heart to step on. Perhaps in this thing we’re mixed in now we’ve all been more or less wrong. I don’t know. I haven’t got the head to-night to figure it out. Perhaps it’s best that what has happened on Jerusalem to-day don’t get out. I don’t know as that’s right. But I’ll say this: give me the girl; you can take MacLeod.”
The Honorable Pulaski hesitated, “hemmed” hoarsely in his throat, clutched at his beard, looked significantly at the high sheriff, and then called him apart by a nod of his head.
When he returned to the group he said, crisply: “It’s a trade! Under the circumstances, I don’t suppose even such a little tin god as you will have anything to say about it outside,” he sneered, running his red eye over Dwight Wade. The young man did not reply, but his face gave assent.
Lane pried away the saplings, and MacLeod stepped out.
“Give him a camp lantern,” commanded Britt. “Get your men into that fire at daylight.”
“Tell me that they’ve all been lying about you, Colin,” cried the girl, her cheeks crimson, her heart going out to him at sight of his face, “and I’ll go with you! I’ll work with you! I’m sorry for it if it’s made you mad with me.” All her sullen anger was gone. She leaned towards him as though she yearned to abase herself.
With Britt’s flaming eyes on him, MacLeod only moved his lips without words.
“Ladder” Lane came out of the cabin with two lanterns. A set of lineman’s climbers jangled dully at his belt.
“No, you’ll not go, girl!” he cried, brusquely.
With hands on her hips, she threw back her head, her nostrils dilating.