Then he waved his hand down the pass, where certain of the departing posse, were bringing the saddle horses in obedience to the sheriff's instructions.
"They'll carry a nice report of you," observed Breslin quietly.

"What do you suppose that little girl will think ?" A flicker of red came to Pringle's hard brown face.

Even the scorn of Espalin and Creagan had left him unabashed, but now he winced visibly; and, for once, he had no reply to make.
Foy gasped, struggled to a sitting position, aided by his oddly assorted ministrants, gazed round in a dazed condition and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
"I'll take my dyin' oath it ain't the cut that ails him," said the ranger, tucking a coat under Foy's blood-stained head.

"That must have been a horrible jolt on his jaw, Pringle.

You're no kind of a man at all--no part of a man.