The brothers walked out to the street. Patrons of the place fell back to let them pass and followed with their eyes the two straight, light-stepping men. Hugh was still a little stringy in build, but even in his immaturity it would have been hard to find a more promising-looking youngster. As for Scot, he was acknowledged to be the handsomest man in the diggings. No woman ever saw him pass without wanting to look at him twice.
The news had swept through town already, and as the brothers walked down the street a hundred men stopped to shake hands with and congratulate them. But even now they whispered their approval. It was possible Dutch might survive his wounds, in which case they were prepared to resume ostensible neutrality. The killer’s name was one that sent the chills down the backs of even courageous men. He was more deadly than a rattlesnake because he usually did not give warning before he struck.
CHAPTER VII
VICKY TELLS SECRETS
After what had just taken place at the Crystal Palace the bright sunshine of Nevada was welcome to both brothers. Inside the gambling house had been unwholesome excitement, passion, the dregs of cruel murder lust, and the shadow of death. In the open street were friendly faces, a sane world going about its business, and God’s sun in the heavens. The McClintocks had probably snuffed out a life. It had been one horribly distorted by evil. None the less, it shook their composure to have sent even such a soul to its last account. They wanted, if possible, to forget completely the look on the face of that huge figure collapsing upon the table.
A little girl stood squarely in front of them on the broken sidewalk. To the casual eye she appeared all patches, flying hair, and knobby legs. There was the shy wildness of a captured forest creature in her manner, but in her small body the McClintocks sensed, too, a dauntless spirit.
“Mister Goodmans,” she said, addressing them both, “don’t you ’member me?”
“Of course. You’re Vicky,” Scot told her.
She came directly to business. “Rob, he’s ’most always drunk ’n we ain’t got nothin’ to eat. Mollie ’n me’s jist awful hungry.”
“Hungry? Good Lord!” cried Hugh.