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"Well, uh well, Martin, that's pretty hard to say, considering you murdered one of my race, you know." "Ring off," said Martin. Gus now called up the Governor's office. "Governor, this is Gus Martin. Will you perteck my life if I surrender to this heah sheriff? I am 'cused uv killin' a white preacher."
Molly Wingate was looking far away, pondering many things. "Well, anyways, hit's even-Stephen fer them both two now," went on Bridger, "an' may God perteck the right an' the devil take the him'mostest. They'll like enough both marry Injun wimern an' settle down in Californy. Out o' sight, out o' mind. Love me little, love me long. Lord Lovell, he's mounted his milk-white steed.
"Miss Mayo don' receive no callers at dis yere hour. No, sah, Sam don' come on tell eight o'clock. No, sah, I cain't take no messages to no ladies what ain't out dey beds yit. I got to perteck dese yere folks, I has," he ended austerely. The caller peeled a bill from his ever-ready roll, and the face of the building's guardian angel changed and softened.
The sheriff did as requested and Gus went to the telephone. "Say, Mistah Sheriff, this is Gus Martin that saw Dave Harper lynched. If I give up to you will you perteck me?" "I'll do what I can, Martin. Of course, you know what you have done." "Will you lose your life trying to perteck me?" asked Martin.
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