He could describe it and its contents--You see,pard,Red Kimball interposed,you are everlasting losing sight of the point.This here is 1880,which I may say is a recent date.Time was when a fellow could live in Cimarron,and come and go free and no questions asked--and none answered.But civilization is a-pressing us hard,and these days is not our fathers'days.We are pretty independent even yet in old Cimarron,but busybodies has got together trying to make it a regular United States territory,and they ain't going to stand for a real out-and-out band of highwaymen such as used to levy on stage-coaches and wagon-trains without exciting no more remarks than the buffaloes.You may be sorry times is changed;so am I;but if times IS fresh,we might as well look 'em in the face.Us fellows has been operating for some years,but whatever we do is blamed on the Indians.That there is a secret that would ruin our business,if it got out.Tomorrow,a gang of white men will be depredating in the Washita country to get revenge for today's massacre,and me and my men couldn't join in the fun with easy consciences if we knowed you was somewheres loose,to tell your story.
Again Gledware protested that he would never betray the band.
Oh,cut this short,interposed Kansas Kimball,with an oath.Daylight will catch us and nothing done,if we listen to that white-livered spy.We don't believe in that wagon he talks about,and as for this kid,he brought her along just to save his bacon.
No,as God lives!cried Gledware.Can't you see she is dead for sleep?She was terrified out of her wits all day,and I've ridden with her all night.Don't kill her,men--He turned impassioned eyes on the leader.Look at her--so young--so unsuspecting--you can't have the heart to murder a child like that in cold blood.
Right you are!exclaimed the man with the ferocious whiskers--he who had been spoken of as Brick Willock.You'll have to go,pard,but I'm against killing infants.