H. Bedford-Jones

“ Estella turned her tear-stained eyes to Robinson. "You can make them believe when——"
"I'm afraid Mr. Buck is right stubborn and set in his ways," sighed Robinson. "Nope, they ain't a bit o' use in me spillin' any talk to him, Stella! Sure's my name's Jack Robinson, there ain't. I met Miguel on the way here, as I said, but——"
Buck nodded to his rider, who approached Robinson and deftly knotted his wrists behind his back.
"Put him on my horse," said Buck quietly, "and take him into town. Hand him over to Sheriff Tracy—and see that nothing happens to him. ”

“ I left 'Chuck' Hansome to bring Miguel in, then I come on. Ye see, ma'am, we'd been lookin' for this gent since yesterday. Seems like he met my foreman, Matt Brady, and shot him down, out o' pure cussedness."
"Don't forget Knute," intervened Robinson, smiling a thin smile. "Don't forget him, Buck."
"Oh!" Estella turned to the speaker swiftly. "Tell me—tell him, you must! This isn't true!"
"Sho, of course it ain't true," said Robinson calmly. "Sure's my name's Jack Robinson, it ain't got a word of truth—except maybe that poor Miguel's dead. That's liable to be true." ”

“ You're the one that's going to turn your back, and do it pronto!"
"Are you threatening me?" demanded Murphy belligerently.
"Threaten you? My gosh, no!" Robinson chuckled. "You ain't worth it, you red hawg! I want to see you ridin' away from here in a hurry. Oh, never you mind, Stella! This gent isn't going to act as mad as he looks. That isn't his style. Murphy, go grab for your gun if you want; I'll give you till you grab it. Hurry up! Grab for it!"
Murphy looked down into those deadly blue eyes and made no move for his gun. His fat red features were perspiring a trifle. ”