"And who the ---- are you?" he asked.
Winston smiled grimly. "I guess you have heard of me. Any way, there
are a good many places in Montana where they know Lance Courthorne.
Quite sure I know a straight game when I see it!"
The man's resistance vanished, but he had evidently been taught the
necessity of making the best of defeat in his profession, and he
laughed as he swept his glance around at the angry faces turned upon
him.
"If you don't there's nobody does," he said. "Still, as you've got my
pistol and 'most dislocated my wrist, the least you can do is to get a
partner out of this."
There was an ominous murmur, and the lad's face showed livid with fury
and humiliation, but Winston turned quietly to the hotel keeper.
"You will take this man with you into your side room and stop with him
there," he said. "Dane, give him the bills. The rest of you had
better sit down here and make a list of your losses, and you'll get
whatever the fellow has upon him divided amongst you. Then, because I
ask you, and you'd have had nothing but for me, you'll put him in his
wagon and turn him out quietly upon the prairie."
"That's sense, and we don't want no circus here," said somebody.
A few voices were raised in protest, but when it became evident that
one or two of the company were inclined to adopt more Draconic
measures, Dane spoke quietly and forcibly, and was listened to. Then
Winston reached out and grasped the shoulder of the English lad, who
made the last attempt to rouse his companions.
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