Monody hadn't broken the windpipe, an' he wasn't dead yet. It was him 'at made the floppin' sound. Oh, it was sickening! Brophy was a fine lookin' man—I recognized him from his description right at once—an' he hadn't been even grazed. He looked around cool but quick, an' just about took it all in, in the snap of a finger. Then he loaded both his guns before us an' made the feller with the lantern do the same. After which he looked into Monody's eyes—looked into 'em until Monody's ugly black face turned ashy; but Brophy hadn't even a scowl, an' when he spoke, his deep voice was steady an' calm. "How did that happen, Monody?" sez he, pointin' to the sub-cook.
"I—I reckon one o' the boys mistook him in the dark," sez Monody.
"I reckon you lie," sez Brophy. "The' ain't no white man would be beast enough. It's one o' your own heathen tricks."
I was surprised at the way Brophy talked. I'd allus heard 'at he was a rip-snortin' screamer, an' here he was talkin' low an' level like, as if he was conversin' about the weather; but when I looked into Monody's face an' saw it gray an' quivery, I knew 'at Brophy wasn't no bluffer, whether he yelled or whether he whispered.
I moved about an inch 'cause my leg was strainin', an' three guns dropped on me. "Don't try nothin'," sez Brophy. I didn't—I stood mighty still.
The man under the table give a gaspy squawk, Brophy dropped on one knee to look at him, an' I could see him shudder as he looked at the torn throat. "My God!" he muttered, an' then he started to git up, his voice fairly snarlin' with rage. "Monody, you beast!" he yelled, snap-pin' back the hammer of his gun, "I'll—"
He never finished it. With a queer, guttural cry Monody took a step forward with his left foot an' kicked him under the chin, lifted him clear from the ground, an' rolled him over, a crumpled an' broken thing, on top o' the sub-cook The man with the lantern began to fan-shoot into Monody, an' I jumped for him an' hit him in the temple with the butt, o' my gun. He went down with a crash an' the lantern went out.
"Monody!" I called. "Monody, are you hurt?" The' wasn't no answer; the' wasn't a sound. I felt like the last man on earth. Then I thought of the girl. I waited a moment to quiet my voice, an' then I sez, "Are you all right, little Barbie?" Still the' wasn't no answer, an' I fairly yelled to her.
"Yes, I'm all right, Happy, but I want to get out. Are you all right?" Her voice was steady, but it sounded a long ways off.
"Yes, Honey Bird, I'm all right," I sez.