“Yes. To save us. Shall we send him back under a rifle guard? Or shall we have Sheriff Brandt come and get him?”
“Gracious goodness, gyurl, shet up whilst I think. Killed a man, eh? This valley has always been open to fugitives. Ain't that right, Jed?”
“To fugitives, yes,” said Jed significantly. “But that fact ain't proved.”
“Jed's getting right important. We'll soon be asking him whether we can stay here,” said Arlie, with a scornful laugh. “And I say it is proved. We met the deputies the yon side of the big cañon.”
Briscoe looked at her out of dogged, half-shuttered eyes. He said nothing, but he looked the picture of malice.
Dillon rasped his stubbly chin and looked at the Texan. Far from an alert-minded man, he came to conclusions slowly. Now he arrived at one.
“Dad burn it, we'll take the 'fugitive' for granted. Yo' kin lie up here long as yo' like, friend. I'll guarantee yo' to my neighbors. I reckon if they don't like it they kin lump it. I ain't a-going to give up the man that saved my gyurl's life.”
The door opened and let in Miss Ruth Dillon. The little old lady had the newspaper in her hand, and her beady eyes were shining with excitement.
“It's all in here, Mr. Fraser—about your capture and escape. But you didn't tell us all of it. Perhaps you didn't know, though, that they had plans to storm the jail and hang you?”
“Yes, I knew that,” the Texan answered coolly. “The jailer told me what was coming to me. I decided not to wait and see whether he was lying. I wrenched a bar from the window, lowered myself by my bedding, flew the coop, and borrowed a horse. That's the whole story, ma'am, except that Miss Arlie brought me here to hide me.”