"He is an Englishman; he's only been out here a few months. He's been
shooting and prospecting; but he's a better shooter than prospector. He's
a stranger; that's why all the folks out here want to save him if it's
possible. It's pretty hard dying in a strange land far away from all
that's yours. Maybe he's got a wife waiting for him over there."
"Nom de Dieu!" said Grassette with suppressed malice, under his breath.
"Maybe there's a wife waiting for him, and there's her to think of. The
West's hospitable, and this thing has taken hold of it; the West wants to
save this stranger, and it's waiting for you, Grassette, to do its work
for it, you being the only man that can do it, the only one that knows
the other secret way into Keeley's Gulch. Speak right out, Grassette.
It's your chance for life. Speak out quick."
The last three words were uttered in the old slave-driving tone, though
the earlier part of the speech had been delivered oracularly, and had
brought again to Grassette's eyes the reddish, sullen look which had made
them, a little while before, like those of some wounded, angered animal
at bay; but it vanished slowly, and there was silence for a moment. The
Sheriff's words had left no vestige of doubt in Grassette's mind.
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