“But how can we take him?” cried Solange. “Surely it would kill him to ride a horse.”
“No, he can’t,” agreed the doctor. “But there is the dog team that came in to-night. You ought to get him to Wallace’s with that and he can probably stand it.”
Solange turned at once and ran out to seek the driver of the dog team. The dogs lay about in the road but the man was not visible. She hastily burst into the saloon again in the hope of finding him there.
The signs of conflict had been removed and men were once more lined up before the rude bar, discussing the fight in low voices. 307
They fell silent when Solange entered and most of them took off their hats, although they had all been puzzled to explain her connection with the event and her actions before it had come off.
She paid no attention to them but swept the crowd looking for the newcomer. He saved her the trouble of identifying him by coming forward.
“Ma’am,” he said, with great embarrassment, “I’m Snake Murphy and I was grubstakin’ that ornery coyote that Louisiana just beefed. I come in to-night with that dog team and I reckon that, accordin’ to law, this here claim of Jim’s belongs to me now that he’s dead. But I wants to say that I ain’t robbin’ no women after they come all the way across the ocean to find this here mine and—well—if half of it’ll satisfy you, it’s yours!”
Solange seized him by the arm.
“You are the man with the dogs?” she cried.
“Yes ma’am.”