So far as he could tell, the Captain _did_ live for duty. He lay awake all night with his head on his saddle, thinking of Lorie--not sleeping, nor even wanting to. The plains were still and silent, so silent that July felt that if he spoke Ellie ought to be able to hear him. He did look big enough to pull the little jail apart--but of course he couldn't do it while he was holding a sick woman.
They were passing a whiskey bottle around and he took his turn as if he were a white man. The Captain looked angry, which made the men better reconciled to the fact that he was leaving. He was a middle-aged man with a curly black beard, thoroughly sweated from his work. How could a girl throw so hard and straight? July had appropriated Hutto's shotgun, loaded it and put it across his saddle--he assumed it would make the prisoners think twice before starting trouble.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.