Noel smiled and so did Marion.
“I’ll give ye the warrants, Noel, an’ say no more about it,” continued the constable. “We got three warrants here—an’ the charges agin’ ye are real serious—but I’m willin’ to forgit it. So there ain’t no sense in keepin’ us here, clutterin’ up Mrs. O’Dell’s kitchen.”
“She don’t care,” replied Noel. “An’ Marion don’t care. You like it fine, Marion, hey? ’Taint every night you git a chance for to set up so late like dis, hey?”
“Yes, thank you, I enjoy it,” said the little girl. “It is great fun. It is like a story in a book, isn’t it, Noel?”
“Hell!” snorted old Tim Hood.
Noel cocked an eye at the ferryman and he cocked the gun at the same time.
“Lemme unlock yer handcuffs for ye,” offered Lunt. “Ye’ll feel more comfortable without ’em, Noel.”
“Guess not,” returned Noel. “Feel plenty comfortable a’ready.”
Wheels sounded outside, and voices; and the youngest of the red dogs barked and turned tail to his duty and frisked to the door. The others stood firm and kept their teeth bared at the men on the floor, but their plumed tails began to wag. Old Noel’s glance did not waver, but Marion’s eyes turned toward the door.
The door opened and men crowded into the kitchen and halted in a bunch and stared at the unusual scene before them. There was Doctor Scott, with a black bag in his hand. There was Uncle Jim, with a white bandage on his head which made his hat too small for him. And there was Sheriff Corker fixing a cold glare on the two men seated on the floor. And over all showed the smiling face of young Ben O’Dell.