None of this occurred to me, just then. The one thing that loomed big in
my mind's eye was the monstrous injustice of the accusation. Coming
right on top of what I'd lately experienced at the hands of the men who
had really done that dirty job--my head still tingled from the impact of
Hicks' pistol--it stirred up all the ugliness I was capable of, and a
lot that I had never suspected. No Fort Walsh guardhouse for me! No
lying behind barred windows, with my feet chain-hobbled like a straying
horse, while the slow-moving Canadian courts debated my guilt or
innocence! Not while I had the open prairie underfoot and the summer sky
above, and hands to strike a blow or pull a trigger.
Even had I been alone I think that I was crazy enough, for the moment,
to have matched myself single-handed against the three of them. In which
case I should likely have bidden a premature farewell to all earthly
interests--though I might, perhaps, have managed to take with me a
Policeman or two for company on the long trail. But a queer look that
flashed over MacRae's face, a suggestive drawing back of his arm,
intimated that something of the same was in his mind. Heavens, but a man
can think a lot in the space of time it takes to count three!
I jumped for the two troopers, with a frenzied notion that I could put
them both out of business if MacRae would only attend to the corporal.
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