Two men carried Bowney to where Caney was standing, and the whole party, with the woman and remaining children, followed.
"Bill," said Caney, "I ain't a askin' yer to go back on yer friends, but them is—look at 'em."
And Caney held the child's feet before the father's eyes, while the woman threw her arms around his neck, and the two older children crept up to the prisoner, and laid their faces against his legs.
"They're a-talkin' to yer, Bill," resumed Caney, of Texas, "an' they're the convincenist talkers I ever seed."
The desperado turned his eyes away; but Caney moved the child so its bleeding feet were still before its father's eyes.
The remaining men all retired beneath the shadow of the tree, for the tender little feet were talking to them, too, and they were ashamed of the results.
Suddenly Bowney uttered a deep groan.
"'Tain't no use a-tryin'," said he, in a resigned tone. "Everybody'll be down on me, an' after all I've done, too! But yer ken hev their names, curse yer!"
The woman went into hysterics; the children cried; Caney, of Texas, ejaculated, "Bully!" and then kissed the poor little bruised feet.
The New Englander fervently exclaimed, "Thank God!"