Bob Hampton of Placer - Page 124/205

At the summit of the ore dump the two men flung themselves panting

down, for the first time able now to realize what it all meant. They

could perceive the figures of their pursuers among the shadows of the

bushes below, but these were not venturing out into the open--the first

mad, heedless rush had evidently ended. There were some cool heads

among the mob leaders, and it was highly probable that negotiations

would be tried before that crowd hurled itself against two desperate

men, armed and entrenched. Both fugitives realized this, and lay there

coolly watchful, their breath growing more regular, their eyes

softening.

"Whut is all this fuss about, anyhow?" questioned the marshal,

evidently somewhat aggrieved. "I wus just eatin' dinner when a feller

stuck his head in an' yelled ye'd killed somebody over at the

Occidental."

Hampton turned his face gravely toward him. "Buck, I don't know

whether you'll believe me or not, but I guess you never heard me tell a

lie, or knew of my trying to dodge out of a bad scrape. Besides, I

have n't anything to gain now, for I reckon you 're planning to stay

with me, guilty or not guilty, but I did not kill that fellow. I don't

exactly see how I can prove it, the way it all happened, but I give you

my word as a man, I did not kill him."

Mason looked him squarely in the eyes, his teeth showing behind his

stiff, closely clipped mustache. Then he deliberately extended his

hand, and gripped Hampton's. "Of course I believe ye. Not that you

're any too blame good, Bob, but you ain't the kind what pleads the

baby act. Who was the feller?"

"Red Slavin."

"No!" and the hand grip perceptibly tightened. "Holy Moses, what

ingratitude! Why, the camp ought to get together and give ye a vote of

thanks, and instead, here they are trying their level best to hang you.

Cussedest sorter thing a mob is, anyhow; goes like a flock o' sheep

after a leader, an' I bet I could name the fellers who are a-runnin'

that crowd. How did the thing happen?"

Both men were intently observing the ingathering of their scattered

pursuers, but Hampton answered gravely, telling his brief story with

careful detail, appreciating the importance of reposing full confidence

in this quiet, resourceful companion. The little marshal was all grit,

nerve, faithfulness to duty, from his head to his heels.

"All I really saw of the fellow," he concluded, "was a hand and arm as

they drove in the knife. You can see there where it ripped me, and the

unexpected blow of the man's body knocked me forward, and of course I

fell on Slavin. It may be I drove the point farther in when I came

down, but that was an accident. The fact is, Buck, I had every reason

to wish Slavin to live. I was just getting out of him some information

I needed."