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Blondy's still raw from that deal Lawler handed him when he brought him here an' dumped him down on the platform, tellin' you Blondy was his 'vent. Blondy swears he'll kill Lawler for that, an' I'm bankin' that he makes a strong play for a killin'. There's red in Blondy's eyes when he talks about Lawler!" Warden smiled evilly.
"Why, boy," he said, "if they'd been killin' them varmints since Bunker Hill they couldn't do no more with 'em than you could with your little popgun out here on the plains. The Indians has druv 'em from the West and the white man's druv 'em from the East and it don't make no difference.
'Seems queer about 'im yonder desertin' at all. ''E'll be a bloomin' side queerer when I've done with 'im, said Ortheris. They were talking in whispers, for the stillness of the wood and the desire of slaughter lay heavy upon them. 'I make no doubt he had his reasons for desertin'; but, my faith! I make less doubt ivry man has good reason for killin' him, said Mulvaney.
Seem s'prised ag'in. Reckon ye don't believe me? I don't wonder when I think o' my own dad, 'n' all the meanness yo folks have done mine; but I've got a good reason fer not killin' ye ef I kin he'p it.
"And there hasn't been no killin'?" Enright shook his head. "Not by any of us." "Then how about that dead man in New York the one that was buried for Cavendish? Oh, I read about that. Beaton showed it to me in the paper." "That's the whole trouble," Enright answered gravely. "I do not know who he was, or how he came there. All I know is, he was not Frederick Cavendish.
But there's been more'n one new feller snookin' round." "Have you heard from any of the boys with the cattle?" "Yep. Bill Weeks rode down. He said a bunch of I.W.W.'s were campin' above Blue Spring. Thet means they've moved on down to the edge of the timber an' oncomfortable near our wheat. Bill says they're killin' our stock fer meat." "Hum!... How many in the gang?" inquired Anderson, darkly.
You come a-shinneyin' up to nine out o' ten men 'long the river like this, an' your purty, coaxin', palaverin' way won't save a feather on you. You'll get the little red heart shot plumb outen your little red body, an' that's what you'll get. It's a dratted shame! An' there's law to protect you, too. They's a good big fine for killin' such as you, but nobody seems to push it.
"I expec's ter die a vi'lent death in a quarrel wid a w'ite man," replied Josh, in a matter-of-fact tone, "an' fu'thermo', he's gwine ter die at the same time, er a little befo'. I be'n takin' my own time 'bout killin' 'im; I ain' be'n crowdin' de man, but I'll be ready after a w'ile, an' den he kin look out!"
Burgoyne, havin' meditated so lately in the treachery of Arnold, one of our own men doin' a act that ort to keep us sort a humble-minded to this day. And then there wuz the killin' and buryin' of Frazier both impressive. He wuz a gallant officer and a brave man.
It was just one of those things a man's got to do. Like Jim Larkin, when he was sheriff, havin' to shoot his own brother, an' him hardly more'n a kid that Jim had raised. But he'd gone plumb bad an' swore never to be taken alive, so Jim killed him an' then he resigned. There ain't a man that knows Jim, that don't know he'd rather a thousan' times over had the killin' happen the other way 'round.
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