“That’s a true word. My reputation has gone glimmering for fair, I guess.” He laughed ruefully. “I shouldn’t wonder, ma’am, when election time comes round, if the boys ain’t likely to elect to private life the sheriff that lay down before a bunch of miscreants.”
“Why did you do it?”
His humorous glance roamed round the car. “Now, I couldn’t think it proper for me to shoot up this sumptuous palace on wheels. And wouldn’t some casual passenger be likely to get his lights put out when the band began to play? Would you want that Boston church to be shy a preacher, ma’am?”
Her lips parted slightly in a curve of scorn. “I suppose you had your reasons for not interfering.”
“Surely, ma’am. I hated to have them make a sieve of me.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Most men are when Wolf Leroy’s gang is on the war path.”
“Wolf Leroy?”
“That was Wolf who came in to see they were doing the job right. He’s the worst desperado on the border—a sure enough bad proposition, I reckon. They say he’s part Spanish and part Indian, but all pisen. Others say he’s a college man of good family. I don’t know about that, for nobody knows who he really is. But the name is a byword in the country. People lower their voices when they speak of him and his night-riders.”
“I see. And you were afraid of him?”