“You’ve got the right man all right,” he said to Buck without answering Flandrau’s cool nod of recognition.
“What sort of a reputation has he got?” Buck asked, lowering his voice a little.
Kite did not take the trouble to lower his. “Bad. Always been a tough character. Friend of Bad Bill Cranston and Soapy Stone.”
Dutch chipped in. “Shot up the Silver Dollar saloon onct. Pretty near beat Pete Schiff’s head off another time.”
Curly laughed rather wildly. “That’s right. Keep a-coming, boys. Your turn now, Maloney.”
“All right. Might as well have it all,” Buck agreed.
“I don’t know anything against the kid, barring that he’s been a little wild,” Maloney testified. “And I reckon we ain’t any of us prize Sunday school winners for that matter.”
“Are we all friends of Soapy Stone and Bad Bill? Do we all rustle stock and shoot up good citizens?” Dutch shrilled.
Maloney’s blue Irish eyes rested on the little puncher for a moment, then passed on as if he had been weighed and found wanting.
“I’ve noticed,” he said to nobody in particular, “that them hollering loudest for justice are most generally the ones that would hate to have it done to them.”