All that Shorty nervously demanded was, "How's that?" as he jerked the revolver into Bud's face.
In Maverick this was evidence enough for Bud—evidence that so far all were free to go.
"Why didn't you's all say so before?" he growled, annoyed at the turn affairs had taken. Then he saw the expression on their faces, laughter and glee as they crowded around Jim; when they looked at him, tolerant amusement. The smelling of the smoke-machines they regarded as a fine new move on their part.
"Damn it," Bud thundered. "You've been astringin' me while the guilty man's escaped; but I'll git him—I'll git him yet."
Jim saved! It was all that the boys wanted. With a whoop-la, they tore after Bud. Down the platform they fled, all in excitement with the new sensation of the moment—the hunt with Bud for the guilty man.
Near the table lay a gray glove. Jim stooped and picked it up, and put it quietly to his lips. Bill, who had lingered near the door, suddenly turned and came back to Jim and put his arm about him.
"You just escaped lynchin', Jim." And Jim knew that Bill spoke the truth.
He held the glove folded close in his hand as he answered, "Yes, I'm almost sorry."
Bill's face became grave. What did the boss mean? Was the game too hard for him? Was he afraid he would lose on the ranch deal? He patted him tenderly, almost like a mother humoring a wayward child, without saying a word. Jim sank into a chair. Bill understood—the boss would like to be alone, so he sauntered up to the back and joined Nick. In his heart there was but one thought: Jim should see how well they would all serve him. He swore a mighty oath that he would see the others did so, too.
Left alone, Jim sat staring straight ahead of him. Suddenly he realized that the body of Cash Hawkins was still lying there. He shuddered at the cruel forgetfulness of the men. He leaned forward and spoke his thoughts aloud: