"It took a bar'l of money," he continued, full of his own logical deductions, "an' I'll bet Porter cleaned up twenty thousand. He's a pretty slick cove, is old 'Honest John, if you ask me." The girl at Crane's side cackled a laugh. "He's funny, isn't he?" she said, nodding her big plumed hat in the direction of the man-group. "He's a talkative fool!" muttered the Banker, shortly.
Always there is strangely mingled, but most naturally, the gentle nature cropping out amid the most desperate and stoical: the night scene in the isolated mountain cabin, guarded ever without and within from any chance down-swooping of the minions of the red-eyed law; the great man-group of gentle giants, with rifles never out of arm's- reach, in tender rivalry ranged admiringly around the crowing, wakeful little boy-baby; the return, at last, of the belated mistress of the house the sister, to whom all do great, awkward reverence.
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