“All the same he’ll never kill a pal of ours, and live to tell it! Stand off, Cully Devens!”
“No, sir! I am going to take this wounded man out of this without another scratch, if I have to send every mother’s son of you to perdition.”
His voice rang out clear and commanding. In the might of his wrath, he had forgotten the language of Cully Devens and spoken as a man to cowards.
The effect was electrical.
From among the men standing at bay, one sprang forward, crying:
“Boys, here’s a traitor amongst us! Who are ye, ye sneak, that has played yerself fer Cully Devens?”
“Don’t pull, boys, I’ve got the drop on ye!”—[page 58].
The lithe body bent slightly forward, a low laugh crossed the lips of the bogus Cully, the brown eyes lighted up, and flashed in the eyes of the men arrayed against him. Then came the answer, coolly, as if the announcement were scarcely worth making: