"'What for a game do you call this, anyhow?' says Jack Moore, who's
a heap scand'lized. 'Is this yere maiden playin' anythin' on this
camp?'
"'She's plumb locoed with grief,' says Dan Boggs, who follers her
in, 'an' she's done got 'em mixed in her mind. She thinks Dave is
Baxter.'
"'That's it,' says Cherokee. 'Her mind's stampeded with the shock.
Me an' Jack takes her over to Jim's corpse, an' that's shore to
revive her.' An' with that Cherokee an' Jack goes up to lead her
away.
"'Save him, Mister Enright; save him!' she pleads, still clingin' to
Tutt's neck like the loop of a lariat. 'Don't let 'em hang him! Save
him for my sake!'
"'Hold on, Jack,' says Enright, who by now is lookin' some
thoughtful. 'Jest everybody stand their hands yere till I counts the
pot an' notes who's shy. It looks like we're cinchin' the hull onto
the wrong bronco. Let me ask this female a question. Young woman,'
he says to Tucson Jennie, 'be you fully informed as to whose neck
you're hangin' to?'
"'It's Dave's, ain't it?' she says, lookin' all tearful in his face
to make shore.
"Enright an' the rest of us don't say nothin', but gazes at each
other. Tutt flushes up an' shows pleased both at once.
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