The fingers loosened from Vicky’s arm and fell away.
“Where’s McClintock at?” the man with the revolver asked again hoarsely.
“First tell me this. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in prison where you belong?”
“Because I broke out. Tha’s why.”
“Then I’ll give you a piece of advice. Get out of town. Now. Quick as you can hit the road.”
“I’m askin’ you where McClintock’s at, Parson.”
Again the eyes of the two battled.
“Sam Dutch, your name stands in this country for murder, treachery, drunkenness, and all other evils known to man. You’re as black-hearted a villain as ever I knew. If you’ve got one redeeming trait I don’t know what it is. Now, listen. You’re going to get out of town now. Right away. You’re not going to murder Scot McClintock. You’ll walk with me straight to Doc Benton’s stable. You’ll arrange with him for a horse. And you’ll drop into the saddle and light a shuck out of Carson.” The voice of the preacher rang harsh. It carried conviction, but Dutch wanted to know what was back of this edict.
“Who says I’ll do all that?” he sneered.
“I say it. If you don’t I’ll rouse the town and hang you in front of the jail. That’s a promise made before God, Dutch. I’ll keep it, so help me.”