“Nobody shall get hurt here,” said Cutler, above the bedlam that was now set up. “Only that man's wanted. The quieter I get him, the quieter it'll be for others.”
Toussaint had dived for his pistol, but the proprietor of the dance-hall, scenting law, struck the half-breed with the butt of another, and he rolled over, and was harmless for some minutes. Then he got on his legs, and was led out of the entertainment, which resumed more gayly than ever. Feet shuffled, the fiddle whined, and truculent treble laughter sounded through the canvas walls as Toussaint walked between Cutler and the saloon-man to jail. He was duly indicted, and upon the scout's deposition committed to trial for the murder of Loomis and Kelley. Cutler, hoping still to be wagon-master, wrote to Lieutenant Balwin, hearing in reply that the reinforcements would not arrive for two months. The session of the court came in one, and Cutler was the Territory's only witness. He gave his name and age, and hesitated over his occupation.
“Call it poker-dealer,” sneered Toussaint's attorney.
“I would, but I'm such a fool one,” observed the witness. “Put me down as wagon-master to the military outfit that's going to White River.”
“What is your residence?”
“Well, I reside in the section that lies between the Missouri River and the Pacific Ocean.”
“A pleasant neighborhood,” said the judge, who knew Cutler perfectly, and precisely how well he could deal poker hands.
“It's not a pleasant neighborhood for some.” And Cutler looked at Toussaint.
“You think you done with me?” Toussaint inquired, upon which silence was ordered in the court.
Upon Cutler's testimony the half-breed was found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged in six weeks from that day. Hearing this, he looked at the witness. “I see you one day agin,” he said.