“Are you running this outfit, or am I, Neil?”
“You are. But I gave her my word. That’s all there’s to it.”
Alice was aware that they had stopped and were facing each other tensely.
“Go slow, York. I gave her my word, too. Do you think I’m allowing to break it while you’re away?”
“No, I don’t. Look here, Phil. I’m not looking for trouble. You’re major-domo of this outfit What you say goes—except about this girl. I’m a white man, if I’m a scoundrel.”
“And I’m not?”
“I tell you I’m not sayin’ that,” the other answered doggedly.
“You’re hinting it awful loud. I stand for it this time, York, but never again. You butt in once more and you better reach for your hardware simultaneous. Stick a pin in that.”
They had moved on again, and she did not hear Neil’s answer. Nevertheless, she was comforted to know she had one friend among these desperate outlaws, and that comfort gave her at least an hour or two of broken, nappy sleep.
In the morning when she had dressed she found her room door unlocked, and she stepped outside into the sunshine. York Neil was sitting on the porch at work on a broken spur strap. Looking up, he nodded a casual good morning. But she knew why he was there, and gratitude welled up in her heart. Not a young woman who gave way to every impulse, she yielded to one now, and shook hands with him. Their eyes met for a moment and he knew she was thanking him.