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He weighs four ounces if he weighs an ounce, and we'll feast on him shortly. I haven't had a full mouth of grub since day before yesterday morning, but you're welcome to a half of him, if you're hungry enough." "Where'd your chuck go?" asked Philip. He was conscious of a new warmth and comfort in his veins, but it was not this that sent a heat into his face at the outlaw's offer.
With carbines advanced, with eyes peering out from under the jagged hat-brims, the veteran troopers came loping into the light of the flames, expectant every instant of hearing the crack of outlaw's rifle, or perhaps the hiss of feathered arrow of unseen foe.
The girl had risen to her feet, and Rod saw that her hands were bound behind her. She, too, realized the disadvantage of Rod's position in the contest, and now with a thrilling cry she sprang to the outlaw's head and stepped with all her weight upon his extended arm. "Quick, Rod quick!" she cried. "Strike! Strike!"
"Donald, give up this heinous purpose!" cried Capitola, in an agony of supplication, as she leaned over the back of the outlaw's chair. "Yes, you know I will ha ha ha!" laughed the robber. "Man, for your own sake give it up!" "Ha, ha, ha! for my sake!" "Yes, for yours! Black Donald, have you ever reflected on death?" asked Capitola, in a low and terrible voice.
The outlaw's stern countenance softened as he regarded the sleeping boy. Suddenly the boy stirred; he opened his eyes, and when he recognized his father a glad smile lighted up his innocent face. "Papa!" he said, and James Fox bent over and kissed him. After kissing his father the young boy looked inquisitively at Ernest. "Who is that boy, papa?" he asked.
"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he said, and seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them. This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He made Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. And the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left off the night before.
But before the boy could fire Travis saw the hawk-like flutter of the blacksmith's pistol arm, as it measured the distance with the old quick training of a bloody experience, and Richard Travis smiled, as he saw the flash from the outlaw's pistol and felt that uncanny chill starting in his marrow again, leap into a white heat to the shock of the ball, and he pitched limply forward, slipped from his horse and went down on the ground murmuring, "Tom Tom safe, and Alice he shot at last and thank God for the touch again!"
"Drink!" he said, and his voice was only a whisper without body of sound. The bartender, with pasty face, round and blank, did not move either his hand or his fascinated eyes. There was a twitch of the outlaw's hand and naked steel gleamed. Instantly revolvers showed in every hand. A youngster moaned. The sound seemed to break the charm.
They had not dared to meddle with me while the chief lay dying; nor was it in their policy, for a short time after that, to endanger their succession by an open breach with Lorna, whose tender age and beauty held so many of the youths in thrall. The ancient outlaw's funeral was a grand and moving sight; more perhaps from the sense of contrast than from that of fitness.
But Buffalo Bill had been also discovered, and up to the outlaw's shoulder went his rifle, at the same instant that the weapon of the scout was leveled. The two rifles cracked almost as one, and the outlaw reeled, tried to spur his horse in flight, and fell to the ground. The scout at once advanced toward him, revolver in hand, when in faint voice came the words: "Don't fire again!
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