TOM GROGAN
“Here! I ain't a-goin' ter stand here an' listen ter yer. Git out o' me way, or I'll”—
Tom stepped closer, her eyes flashing, every word ringing clear.
“Stand still, an' hear what I've got to say to ye, or I'll go into that room and make a statement to the judge that'll put ye where ye won't move for years. There was enough light for me to see. Look at this”—drawing back her hood, and showing the bandaged scar.
McGaw seemed to shrivel up; the crowd stood still in amazement.
“I thought ye would. Now, I'll go on. Since that night in me kitchen ye've tried to ruin me in ivery other way ye could. Ye've set these dead beats Crimmins and Quigg on to me to coax away me men; ye've stirred up the Union; ye burned me stable”—
“Ye lie! It's a tramp did it,” snarled McGaw.
“Ye better keep still till I get through, Dan McGaw. I've got the can that helt the ker'sene, an' I know where yer boy Billy bought it, an' who set him up to it,” she added, looking straight at Crimmins. “He might'a' been a dacent boy but for him.” Crimmins turned pale and bit his lip.
244
