"You said that to—her?" he gasped, in amazement. "To my kid?" There was a moment of tense silence during which the speaker appeared to be numbed by the insult, then, "By God!" Sam placed the dice-box carefully upon the bar. His movement was deliberate, but he kept his flaming gaze fixed upon the object of his wrath, and into his lean, ashen countenance came such demoniac fury as to appal those who saw it.
Rouletta uttered a faint moan and flung herself at her father; with a strength born of terror she clung to his right wrist. In this she was successful, despite old Sam's effort to shake her off, but she could not imprison both his arms. Kirby stepped forward, dragging the girl with him; he raised that wicked artificial left hand and brought it sweeping downward, and for a second time that day the steel shaft met flesh and bone. His victim spun upon his heels, then, with outflung arms and an expression of shocked amazement still upon his face, he crashed backward to the floor.
Kirby strode to him; before other hands could come to Rouletta's assistance and bear him out of reach he twice buried his heavy hobnailed boot in the prostrate figure. He presented a terrible exhibition of animal ferocity, for he was growling oaths deep in his throat and in his eyes was the light of murder. He fought for liberty with which to finish his task, and those who restrained him found that somehow he had managed to draw an ivory-handled six-shooter from some place of concealment. Nor could they wrench the weapon away from him.
"He insulted my kid—my girl Letty!" Kirby muttered, hoarsely.
When the fallen man had been lifted to his feet and hurried out of the saloon old Sam tried his best to follow, but his captors held him fast. They pleaded with him, they argued, they pacified him as well as they could. It was a long time, however, before they dared trust him alone with Rouletta, and even then they turned watchful eyes in his direction.
"I didn't want anything to happen." The girl spoke listlessly.
Kirby began to rumble again, but she interrupted him. "It wasn't the man's fault. It was a perfectly natural mistake on his part, and I've learned to expect such things. I—I'm sick, dad. You must find a place for me, quick."
Sam agreed readily enough. The biting cold of the wind met them at the door. Rouletta, summoning what strength she could, trudged along at his side. It did not take them long to canvass the town and to discover that there were no lodgings to be had. Rouletta halted finally, explaining through teeth that chattered:
"I—I'm frozen! Take me back where there's a stove—back to the saloon—anywhere. Only do it quickly."
"Pshaw! It isn't cold," Kirby protested, mildly.