"Is that him?
Biff Farnham?
An' he 's after you is he, the damned Mormon ?" She nodded, her cheeks growing rosy from embarrassment.

Brown cast a quick, comprehensive glance from the face of the woman to where the man was now leaning lazily against the wall.
"All r-right, little g-girl," he said slowly, and with grave deliberation.

"I-I reckon I n-never went b-back on any p-pard yet.
B-blamed if y-y-you hate thet c-cuss any worse th-than I do.

Y-you bet, I 'll take you out o' h-h-here safe 'nough." He drew her more closely against his side, completely shielding her slender figure from observation by the intervention of his giant body, and thus they passed out together into the gloomy but still riotous street.

A block or more down, under the glaring light of a noisy saloon, the girl looked up questioningly into his boyish face.
"Are you Stutter Brown, of the 'Little Yankee' ?" she asked doubtfully.
"I-I reckon you've c-c-called the t-turn, Miss." She hesitated a moment, but there was something about this big, awkward fellow, with his sober eyes and good-natured face, which gave her confidence.
"Do--do you know a Mr.Ned Winston ?" He shook his head, the locks of red hair showing conspicuously under the wide hat-brim.
"I r-reckon not.