“What became of the women?” Shefford asked, 'presently.
“They're around among friends.”
“Where are their children?”
“Left over there with the old women. Couldn't be fetched over. But there are some pretty young babies in that bunch—need their mothers.”
“I should—think so,” replied Shefford, constrainedly. “When will their mothers get back to them?”
“To-night, maybe, if this mob of cow-punchers and wranglers get out of town.... It's a bad mix, Shefford, here's a hunch on that. These fellows will get full of whisky. And trouble might come if they—approach the women.”
“You mean they might get drunk enough to take the oaths of those poor women—take the meaning literally—pretend to believe the women what they swore they were?”
“Reckon you've got the hunch,” replied Joe, gloomily.
“My God! man, that would be horrible!” exclaimed Shefford.
“Horrible or not, it's liable to happen. The women can be kept here yet awhile. Reckon there won't be any trouble here. It'll be over there in the valley. Shefford, getting the women over there safe is a job that's been put to me. I've got a bunch of fellows already. Can I count on you? I'm glad to say you're well thought of. Bishop Kane liked you, and what he says goes.”