"He's got a good mile start by this time," said Dick at length, coolly lowering his pistol and returning it to his pocket. "Gentlemen," he continued, leisurely descending the veranda, "you're at liberty to follow him if you like."
"After him, boys!" yelled Blake, suddenly aroused to fresh action.
"It's no use, Jim," said one of his men, "our hosses is cleaned blowed."
"Damnation!" growled Blake, tugging nervously at his beard. "And now, Dick Yankton," he continued, confronting him squarely with both feet spread wide apart and his hands thrust to his elbows in his trouser pockets, "the question is, what's to be done with you? I just guess we'll make an example of you for interfering with the law."
"And I guess you won't do anything of the kind, Jim Blake, because there isn't a white man in the country that will help you do it."
"The devil!" ejaculated Blake, completely taken aback by Dick's coolness.
"I guess Dick's about right there, Jim," spoke up another of his men.
Blake was about to continue the argument, but realizing that the sentiment of his men was not with him and that his position was growing momentarily more ridiculous, he ceased abruptly. Rough though he was and of the swash-buckler type, he was neither insensible to the humor of the situation nor to the nerve it had taken on Dick's part to hold twenty armed men at bay single-handed. It is usually a difficult matter to pocket one's pride, especially if one sees ridicule lurking just around the corner, but few men were capable of resisting the charm of Dick's personality for long.
"Come, Jim, be reasonable," he said, laying his hand familiarly on Blake's shoulder; "Bob Carlton saved my life once and now we're quits."
"He did? Well, that's the only good thing the sneakin' skunk ever done! Why didn't you tell us that before?"