But Jim stood firm in front of the cabin door. "There are cases, Sheriff, where justice is superior to the law, and the white man's court is a bad place for justice to the Indian. Fortunately for all of us, Nat-u-ritch has disappeared."
As Jim spoke, Bud realized that if the Indian woman were there Carston would not be so calm.
"But you couldn't arrest her, Sheriff—not while I live. Bill"—he turned to the foreman, who came out of the house—"I'm not in a mood to discuss this with Sheriff Hardy, and I don't want to violate the laws of hospitality. But just one word, Sheriff—you've eaten my bread, slept under my roof, and now you sneak into my house to get evidence against the mother of my boy." Jim hesitated, and then as he left them he quietly finished, "Bill, I think you'd better see the Sheriff safely on his way."
And Bud knew that for the time being he had lost his game.
CHAPTER XXV
"Carston's locoed. He's plumb crazy. There can't be a jail for whites and a palace for Injins. He don't suppose he can stop me, does he?" Bud began, excitedly.
Bill, encouraged by Jim's mastery of the situation, chaffingly answered: "After you arrest Nat-u-ritch you'll never hold office, Bud. You may hold a harp or a coal-shovel." Then he laughed.
"My! You're making a fuss over a squaw," said Bud, who could see no humor in Bill's words.
But Bill replied, "Arrestin' the mother of innocent kids will not be considered a popular form of amusement around here, Bud."
"Kids? What's that got to do with it?"