Kansas,not without a sigh of relief,lowered his weapon and looked questioningly at his brother.The shadow of the log cabin was upon him,making more sinister his uncouth attire,and his lean vindictive face under the huge Mexican hat.Gledware,not daring to move,kept his eyes fixed on that deep gloom out of which at any moment might spurt forth the red flash of death.From within the cabin came loud oaths inspired by cards or drink,as if the inmates would drown any calls for mercy or sounds of execution that might be abroad in the night.
Now,Brick Willock,the leader spoke grimly,take your turn first.That kid's got to die,and you are to do the trick,and do it without any foolishness.
I can't,Willock declared doggedly.
Oh,yes;yes,you can,Brick.You see,we can't 'tend to no infant class,and I ain't hard-hearted enough to leave a five-year-old girl to die of hunger on the prairie;nor do I mean to take her to no town or stage-station as a card for to be tracked by.Oh,yes,you can,Brick,and now's the time.
Red,exclaimed Willock desperately,I tell you fair,and I tell you foul,that this little one lives as long as I do.
And what do you aim to do with her,eh,Brick?
Willock made no reply.He had formed no plans for his future,or for that of the child;but his left arm closed more tightly about her.