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5 Jun
Indian and Scout

Posted by ploymeesin in Books & Reference | June 5, 2013 | 0 Comments

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“Ef there was a man here as was a man, guess it’d be some use waitin’ and talkin’. But as thar ain’t sich a thing handy, why, I’ll git. Once and fer all, aer thar a one here as don’t think I did it fair? Eh?”

The man who spoke swept his eyes round the narrow, ugly room, and pulled the brim of his wideawake hat down over his eyes just a trifle lower; whether to hide the scowl in them, or the fear which lurked in his dilated pupils, it would be difficult to say. Tusker Joe was not anxious that his companions in the room, which went by the name of saloon, should guess that he was anything but self-composed and full of courage. But to give the bare truth, Tusker Joe was by no means easy in his mind. Even the smoking revolver in his hand, in which four unused cartridges yet remained, failed to reassure him. It was not only fear for his own wretched life that haunted him. Tusker Joe had a conscience at this day, and it smote him just then harder than all else. Even as he swept his eyes round the room he was struggling hard to drown that ready conscience, to still the voice which whispered persistently in his ear: “Murderer, murderer!”

“Yer don’t speak,” he went on, after a minute’s awkward silence, raising his voice till he almost shouted the words, as if the sounds helped to encourage him and drown that still, small whisper. “Then I takes it that ye’re all in agreement. It was fair done. Me alone against them two, and they quarrelsome. I’d stop and face the sheriff hisself with that. But what’s the use? A man has ter work nowadays, and a sheriff wastes time. Yer can jest give him the facts for yerselves; but, at the same time, yer can jest mind. Tusker Joe ain’t a playsome girl. He ain’t a weaklin’, likely ter take sauce from no one. And lies he don’t have at no price, not at all. Ef there’s a man here as feels at this second as he don’t agree that it war all fair and square, jest let him speak up. That’s what I say. Let him open his mouth, here and now, before what’s left of us.”

The man’s voice was truculent now. His words deafened those within the saloon, and there was no excuse for not hearing them. But no answer came. Not one of the three men seated at a table at one end ventured to open his lips. Instead, all, as if by common arrangement, kept their eyes fixed on the wall opposite them, as if intent on counting the planks which helped to make it, while their open palms lay exposed on the table.

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