“You've killed whom?”
“Yonder half-breed. Damn his soul, he'll never get in a white man's way again—he'll keep his place!”
“You've murdered him, you mean?” Stephen spoke in a shocked whisper.
“It wa'n'. murder, Landray, I swear to God it wa'n'.! Who says murder to me, I've always been a fair man—who says murder to me?” and his wild, bloodshot eyes searched the circle of white faces.
“He'd a done for me if I hadn't shot him. He came down to the hole with his two horses; I was ahead of him, but he yelled to me to get out of his way; and when I told him he'd have to wait until I'd watered my stock, he tried to ride me down. I didn't lift a hand until then.”
Raymond was the first to speak.
“I wonder if that don't save me a hundred and a quarter; they certainly ain't entitled to his share, now are they?” But if they heard him, no one replied to the deserter, who continued to regard Rogers with an envious admiration. “The eternally condemned bag of bones, where'd he get the heart for it?” he muttered.
And then a savage cry came from the direction of the water-hole, telling that the body had been found by Basil and Baptiste. Stephen turned to Rogers.
“Get in one of the wagons, and lie still—take Benny with you—and, no matter what happens, stay there!” to the others he added: “Mind, right or wrong, we are not going to surrender him to them. That would but make a bad matter worse.”
“What's your notion, Steve?” asked Bushrod briskly. “Hadn't we better look sharp for the half-breed?”