It was Molly Wingate who faced them all now, turning from one bloody, naked figure to the other.  She saw Sam Woodhull standing, his hands still at his face; caught some sense out of Jackson’s words, overheard as she came into the clearing.

“You!” she blazed at Will Banion.  “You’d put out a man’s eyes!  You brute!”

CHAPTER X

OLE MISSOURY

Molly Wingate looked from one to the other of the group of silent, shamefaced men.  Puzzled, she turned again to the victor in the savage combat.

“You!”

Will Banion caught up his clothing, turned away.

“You are right!” said he.  “I have been a brute!  Good-by!”

An instant later Molly found herself alone with the exception of her brother.

“You, Jed, what was this?” she demanded.

Jed took a deep and heartfelt chew of plug.

“Well, it was a little argument between them two,” he said finally.  “Like enough a little jealousy, like, you know—­over place in the train, or something.  This here was for men.  You’d no business here.”

“But it was a shame!”

“I reckon so.”

“Who started this?”

“Both of them.  All we was here for was to see fair.  Men got to fight sometimes.”

“But not like animals, not worse than savages!”

“Well, it was right savage, some of the time, sis.”

“They said—­about eyes—­oh!”

The girl shivered, her hands at her own eyes.

“Yes, they called it free.  Anybody else, Sam Woodhull’d be sorry enough right now.  T’other man throwed him clean and had him down, but he let him up.  He didn’t never hurt Sam’s eyes, only pinched his head a little.  He had a right, but didn’t.  It had to be settled and it was settled, fair and more’n fair, by him.”

“But, Jed”—­the eternal female now—­“then, which one really whipped?”

“Will Banion did, ain’t I told you?  You insulted him, and he’s gone.  Having come in here where you wasn’t no ways wanted, I reckon the best thing you can do is to go back to your own wagon and stay there.  What with riding horses you hadn’t ought, and seeing fights when you don’t know a damned thing about nothing, I reckon you’ve made trouble about enough.  Come on!”

“Price,” said Bill Jackson to the grave and silent man who walked with him toward the wagon train beyond the duelling ground, “this settles hit.  Us Missoury wagons won’t go on under no sech man as Sam Woodhull.  We didn’t no ways eleck him—­he was app’inted.  Mostly, elected is better’n app’inted.  An’ I seen afore now, no man can hold his place on the trail unless’n he’s fatten.  We’ll eleck Will Banion our cap’n, an’ you fellers kin go to hell.  What us fellers started out to do was to go to Oregon.”

“But that’ll mean the train’s split!”

“Shore hit will!  Hit is split right now.  But thar’s enough o’ the Liberty wagons to go through without no help.  We kin whup all the rest o’ this train, give we need ter, let alone a few Injuns now an’ then.