“Throw him out ter me, Chick,” said he.
“Please, please do not let this go any further,” said the woman, stretching out her hands earnestly. “He did only what any one would have done to save his life. What are a ring, and a locket, and two hundred dollars compared with a human life? What you intend doing would be a terrible thing—so terrible that I can hardly believe you’re in earnest. For my sake, spare him!”
Hotchkiss drew his sleeve over his forehead.
“Pussonly,” said he, “if the whelp ain’t hung, he ort ter be tarred an’ feathered.”
“I ain’t never goin’ ter let it be said,” ground out Chick Billings, who noted that Hotchkiss was wavering, “that anythin’ like what jest happened took place on a stage o’ mine an’ me never doin’ nothin’ ter play even.”
“I’d hate ter hev it said in Sun Dance,” said Pete, “that us fellers allowed sich a whelp as this Easterner ter pollute the camp with his presence—knowin’ the things about him that we do.”
“The hangin’,” finished Billings, “will purceed. Hotchkiss, ye kin help er not, jest as ye please.”
“I’ll help, o’ course,” said Hotchkiss; “but it’s my natur’ allers ter oblige er lady, when it’s possible. Sorry, mum,” he finished, turning to the woman, “but ye see how it is.”
Reginald de Bray threw back his head and laughed. The mirth seemed untimely.
“Quit it!” snorted Chick Billings. “Ye ort ter be sayin’ yer prayers, ’stead o’ laffin’.”