She reeled as though about to fall, her hand pressed against her heart.
Before an arm could be out-stretched in support, she had rallied, and
turned away. With head lowered, her face shadowed by her hair she
walked slowly toward the cabin. No man in the group stirred until she
had disappeared. Then the sheriff fumblingly replaced his hat, his
eyes wandering in uncertainty from Farnham to Winston.
"By God!" he exclaimed, as though in relief, catching his breath
quickly and wiping his forehead. "By God! but that was fierce."
Recalling his own duty he reached out his hand and laid it heavily upon
the shoulder of the man standing next him. It chanced to be the Swede.
"Go on into the cabin," he commanded, a returning sternness in the
order.
The surprised man stared at him in dull bewilderment.
"Vat for Ay go--hey?"
"Because you 're under arrest."
"Vat dot you say? I vas arrest? Maybe you not know me, hey? Ay tells
you vat Ay vas mighty quick. Ay ban Nels Swanson; Ay ban Lutheran; Ay
ban shovel--"
"Oh, shut up; ye 're under arrest, I tell you--move on now."
"Vat vas dis under arrest?" the blue eyes losing their mildness, the
drooping moustache beginning to bristle. "Ay no understand 'bout dis
arrest. Vat Ay do, hey?"
"Helped to kill Jack Burke."
The startled Norseman stared at him, gulping, his eyes fairly
protruding from his face, his breath hissing between his gritted teeth.
The wild berserker blood was surging hot through his veins.
"Ut vas von lie! You kill me so! By tamn, no!"
That instant, insane with fright, he grasped the astonished officer in
the vise of his great hands, swung him into the air, and dashed him
down headlong upon the rocks. Uttering a yell like that of some wild
animal, the fellow was off, striking against Winston with his body as
he passed, leaping recklessly across the rocks, heading straight toward
the nearest thicket. It was all the work of a moment. Farnham whirled
and sent one shot after him; then, as suddenly remembering his own
peril, wheeled back to face the others, the smoking revolver in his
hand. Amid the quick turmoil old Mike sprang to the summit of the rock
rampart, his face flaming with enthusiasm.
"Go it, Swanska!" he yelled, encouragingly. "Go it, ye crazy
white-head! Be the powers, but it's the foinest runnin' Oi 've sane
fer a whoile. Saints aloive! but wud ye moind thim legs! 'Twas a
kangaroo, begorry, an' not a monkey he come from, or Oi 'm a loiar. Go
it, Swanny, ould bye! Howly St. Patrick! but he 'll be out o' the
State afore dhark, if he only kapes it up. It 's money Oi 'm bettin'
on the Swade!"
Winston stepped swiftly across to the motionless sheriff, and knelt
down beside him, his face gravely anxious. The unfortunate man lay
huddled up, breathing heavily, his head bleeding freely from two
plainly visible wounds. The engineer turned him over, one hand feeling
for his heart. Slowly the young man rose to his feet, standing beside
the body, his gray eyes fastened upon Farnham. Here was a condition of
affairs he must decide upon for himself, decide instantly, decide in
spite of law, in spite of everything.