“He’s a wanderer from Dead Man’s Gulch, but he’s not alone, for we’re his little brothers!” shouted Dan. Then again resounded the “Zip! Zip! yee, you!” in which Red Eagle joined with unction, for he smelled whiskey as the ending of this festival. Then Red Eagle was cheered, at which he bowed with preternatural dignity.
At this juncture Snakes Duffy came up with a keg of whiskey on his shoulder, at which everybody cheered, but Helen went to him and, smiling pleasantly, asked him something, to which he nodded assent and deliberately turned the keg on end and sat down on it. He disposed himself so as to listen to what Shoshone had to say, and this gentleman spoke:
“To those who don’t know, let me state that at 12 o’clock precisely, a few seconds from now, as Deputy United States Marshal, I shall fire my pistol, and that will be the signal for the crossing of the line, which is the railroad track. Over there is the Reservation, and no man must cross it until he hears the signal. The one who does it, does so at the risk of his life!”
Shoshone stood still as a statue, looking at his watch and holding his great pistol with its shining barrel.
“Don’t be in a hurry, boys; don’t be in a hurry to try your wings. He’s from the heart of the Gulch and shoots with both hands—never misses, either.”
This advice probably had some effect, for everyone kept in his place, when Mike shouted, and in a voice loud enough to be heard all over the county:
“Say, boys, we all owe it to the Angel that she should be given one minute’s start over everyone here. All in favor of it say ‘aye.’”
Such a chorus of “ayes” rose that it showed Helen that her gentle ministrations and self-sacrifice had been appreciated in her own generation.
“Go, Angel, and take the boy, Loney, along. He ought to have a start in life.”
“Thank you, friends,” said Helen, “I will do this, not so much for myself——”