If she did not altogether trust Ben Swann, at least she preferred him to the other unshaven, work-thinned faces which leered at her around the table.
“Daddy Dan,” she said softly. “Joan wants to go to Daddy Dan.”
“Daddy Dan—Dan Barry,” translated Ben Swann, and he drew a bit away from her. “Boys, that mankillin' devil must be around here; and that's what them up to the house was runnin' from—Barry!”
It scattered the others to the windows, to the door.
“What d'you see?”
“Nothin'.”
“Swann, if Barry is comin' to these parts, I'm goin' to pack my war-bag.”
“Me too, Ben. Them that get ten thousand'll earn it. I heard about the Killin' at Alder.”
“Listen to me, gents,” observed Ben Swann. “If Barry is comin' here we ain't none of us goin' to stay; but don't start jumpin' out from under till I get the straight of it. I'm goin' to take the kid up to the house right now and find out.”
So he wrapped up Joan in an old blanket, for she was shivering in the cold of the early morning, and carried her up to the ranchhouse. The alarm had already been given. He saw Buck Daniels gallop toward the front of the place leading two saddled horses; he saw Haines and Kate run down the steps to meet them, and then they caught sight of the foreman coming with Joan on his shoulder.
