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The fire burned fiercely in the stove, and with every rush of wind outside there came a corresponding roar of flame up the stovepipe. "Maybe you take my meanin'," said the Breed, assured that his words had struck home. "Them black furs was chock full o' grit an' that grit was gold-dust. Guess that dust didn't grow in them furs; an' I 'lows foxes don't fancy a bed o' such stuff.
"Ye 'lows it be wrong," he said, his bold bright eyes all softened as he looked at her, "bein' agin the law?" "I ain't keerin' fur the law. Ef the truth war knowed, the law is aimin' ter git all the benefit o' whiskey bein' drunk itself. That's whar the law kems in. I only keer fur" She stopped abruptly.
"Nate, he say, the greatest privilege his kentry kin confer on him is ter make it capital punishment fur wimmen ter ax him questions! Which I hev done," she admitted stoutly. And the ruffle on her cap did not deny it. "Nate air twenty-one," she reiterated. "An' I s'pose he 'lows ez I hev no call nowadays ter be his mother."
"I wouldn't cook nuffin' fer you on Miss Sue's stove while she's talkin' 'bout you lak she is. She 'lows she don't never want to set eyes on you ag'in as long as she lives." "Has the judge asked for me?" said Sandy. "Yas, sir; but de doctor he up and lied. He tol' him you'd went back to de umerversity. De doctor 'lowed ef he tole him de trufe it might throw him into a political stroke."
"Say, Tresler, I'm kind o' sorry you wus put to all that figgerin' an' argyment," he said, shaking up his old pony to bring him alongside the speedy mare. "Y' see ye never ast me 'bout that letter. Kind o' jumped me fer a fool-head at oncet. Which is most gener'ly the nature o' boys o' your years. Conclusions is mostly hasty, but I 'lows they're reas'nable in their places which is last.
He would jes' stop an' push his spectacles back on his slick bald head an' say, 'Ye hear me, Loralindy! he 'lows he'll never furget the keer ye tuk o' him whenst he war shot an' ailin' an' nigh ter death. An' no mo' he ought, nuther. But some do furget sech ez that, Loralindy some do!"
Say, he wus the harmlessest lad as ever jerked a rope or slung a leg over a stock saddle. An' as slick a hand as ther' ever wus around this ranch. I tell ye he could teach every one of us, he wus that handy; an' that's a long trail, I 'lows. Wal, we wus runnin' in a bunch of outlaws fer brandin', an' he wus makin' to rope an old bull. Howsum he got him kind o' awkward.
"Mought know I warn't industrious in the field, ez he seen me off a-fiddlin' in the woods whilst Neighbor war a-ploughin'." "Mebbe he 'lows he mought make ye industrious an' git cornsider'ble work out'n ye," she faltered, flinching for him. After another refreshing gulp from the gourd he canvassed this dispassionately.
"I 'lows all men has their faults, but Will Henderson ain't no sort of bokay of virtues. He's a drunken bum anyway." "An' he knocks her about," added Pretty, with a snap. "But he's pilin' up the dollars for her," Jane urged, still lost in serious contemplation of the fabulous sums her simple mind attributed to Eve's fortune. But Pretty Wilkes had no sympathy with such excuses.
"Guess I ken take your word, boys; ye ain't the sort to lie to a pal. I'm real sorry." He paused and shifted his position. Then he went on with a slightly cunning look. "I 'lows you're like to take a run down to Edmonton one o' these days. A feller mostly likes to make things hum when he's got a good wad." Gagnon's tone was purely conversational.
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