“He is that,” an Irishwoman’s voice lifted. “But glory be, there’s wan man not afraid to comb his whiskers for him. An’ it’s a brave colleen y’are to spake up for your fine young man like that.”
A roar of approval went up into the air. Men surged forward, and women, too, to express their gratitude by standing between this young man and the Dodson faction. Vicky, rosy with embarrassment, vanished in the crowd.
“I reckon you don’t get a chance to use yore scatter gun this trip,” Budd said with a grin. “Prospects look bilious for this killer you got rounded up. Sure do. I never did see such a son-of-a-gun as you, Kid. Me, I’d ’a’ bet an ounce of gold against a dollar Mex you never would ’a’ walked into Piodie an’ took Sam Dutch out. But that there miracle is what you’re gonna pull off, looks like.”
“Went right down into the Katie Brackett after him,” chuckled Byers. “Brought him from that hell hole with the cuffs on him.”
“Sho! It’s you boys that helped me out,” said Hugh. “And I haven’t got him to Carson yet, anyhow. Sloan won’t give up without makin’ a try to get Dutch from me.”
Evidently the gunmen knew better than to challenge public opinion at present. They drew off to the mine boarding house and left Hugh free to return to Piodie with his prisoner.
McClintock thanked the lumberjack and others who had come to his aid, and started down the gulch, accompanied by a straggling guard of townspeople returning to their homes for breakfast after a long and anxious night.
Dutch shambled in front of him through the sage. After a period of violent cursing he had fallen into a savage and vindictive silence. He, too, believed that his allies would not desert him without a fight.
Beneath the superficial needs of the moment Hugh’s thoughts were of Vicky. He had all the average man’s healthy reluctance at being defended by a woman, but deeper than this was his admiration for the spirit of the girl. He had never seen anything lovelier, more challenging, than the slender girl glowing with passionate indignation on his behalf. She had looked like a picture he had seen of Joan of Arc standing before the French army, her sword outflung and her young body clad in shining armour.