“All right—get my breath,” mumbled Buck.
“Yuh hurt any place?” Jessup continued, after a brief pause.
“Not to speak of,” returned Stratton in a stronger tone. “When I first jumped for the cuss, I hit my head the devil of a crack, and—pretty near went out. But that don’t matter—now.”
His eyes sought the girl’s and dwelt there, longingly, caressingly. There was tribute in their depths, appreciation, and something stronger, more abiding which brought a faint flush into her tired face and made her heart beat faster. Presently, when he staggered to his feet and took a step or two toward her, she felt no shame in meeting him half way. Quite as naturally as his arm slipped around her shoulders, her lifted hands rested against the front of his flannel shirt, torn into ribbons and stained with grime.
“For a little one,” he murmured, looking down into her eyes, “you’re some spunky fighter, believe me!”
She flushed deeper and her lids drooped. Of a sudden Sheriff Hardenberg spoke up briskly:
“That was a right nice shot, kid. You got him good.”
He was standing beside the body sprawling on the ground, and the words had scarcely left his lips when Lynch’s eyes opened slowly.
“Yes—yuh got me,” he mumbled. 341
Slowly his glance swept the circle of faces until it rested finally on the man and girl standing close together. For a long moment he stared at them silently, his pale lips twitching. Then all at once a look of cunning satisfaction swept the baffled fury from his smoldering eyes.