After a long time Wadley, his arm still around Ramona, joined them on the ledge.
"Boys, I'm no hand at talkin'," he said huskily. "I owe both of you a damned sight more than I can ever pay. I'll talk with you later, Jack. What about you, Dinsmore? You're in one hell of a fix. I'll get you out of it or go broke."
"What fix am I in?" demanded the outlaw boldly. "They ain't got a thing on me--not a thing. Suspicions aren't proof."
The Ranger said nothing. He knew that the evidence he could give would hang Dinsmore before any Panhandle jury, and now his heart was wholly on the side of the ruffian who had saved the life of his sweetheart. None the less, it was his duty to take the man in charge and he meant to do it.
"Hope you can make yore side of the case stick, Dinsmore. I sure hope so. Anyway, from now on I'm with you at every turn of the road," the cattleman promised.
"Much obliged," answered the outlaw with a lift of his lip that might have been either a smile or a sneer.
"You've been trailin' with a bad outfit. You're a sure-enough wolf, I've heard tell. But you're a man all the way, by gad."
"Did you figure I was yellow like Steve, Clint? Mebbe I'm a bad hombre all right. But you've known me twenty years. What license have you ever had to think I'd leave a kid like her for the 'Paches to play with?" The hard eyes of the outlaw challenged a refutation of his claim.
"None in the world, Homer. You're game. Nobody ever denied you guts. An' you're a better man than I thought you were."
Dinsmore splattered the face of a rock with tobacco juice and his stained teeth showed in a sardonic grin.
"I've got a white black heart," he jeered.