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He cleared his throat again, and went on: "Boys, if thar's to be any whippin', ur tarrin' an' featherin' in this case, I'm agin it tooth an' toe-nail. Cap Westerfelt's boy sha'n't have a hair o' his head fetched on sech flimsy evidence as we've had while I'm alive. You kin think what you please o' me. I've got too much faith in the Westerfelt stock to believe that a branch of it 'u'd spy ur sneak.
The old woman's thin hands quivered as she took the coin and slowly counted the pieces into her pocket-book, Washburn suspected from the expression of Westerfelt's face that the conversation was of a private nature, so he went out to the hack to help Budd unharness the horses.
"It's cool out here," said Westerfelt's partner as they were returning from the walk under the arbor of grape-vines. "They are all goin' inside." At about twelve o'clock the guests began to leave. Harriet Floyd, followed by Wambush, came in hurriedly after most of the others had gone. Westerfelt was near Mrs. Bradley when she came to say good-night.
Drap that gun, an' fight like a man ur not at all!" Wambush's eye ran along the revolver, following every movement of Westerfelt's with the caution of a panther watching dangerous prey. "One more inch and you are a dead man!" he said, slowly. Mrs. Floyd, who was on the veranda, cried out and threw her arms round Harriet, who seemed ready to run between the two men.
Westerfelt?" she asked, in a low tone, as she leaned over the railing. "I've done all that kin be done," he said. "I've been round among the citizens. They all say we'd be fools to try to do anything, Mrs. Floyd. Some are skeerd to death, an' others pretend they don't think Mr. Westerfelt's in danger."
Westerfelt was waiting for him to make the attack, but, unlike his antagonist, was growing calmer every second. All at once Wambush sent his right arm towards Westerfelt's face so quickly that the spectators scarcely saw it leave his side, but it was not quicker than Westerfelt's left, which skilfully parried the thrust.
"Well," he smiled, reining in as he caught Westerfelt's eye, "I 'lowed hard work in the sun would do more to git the kinks out'n me after all the trouble at my house than anything else." "How is Mrs. Dawson?" ventured Westerfelt. "You'd better ax me how she ain't," retorted Slogan, shrugging his shoulders. "I could tell you a sight easier. She's turned into a regular hell-cat.
Westerfelt hesitated, and looked at the crowd that filled the door and stood peering in at the window. Mrs. Floyd was running up and down in the hall, excitedly calling for Harriet, but the crowd was too anxious to hear Westerfelt's reply to notice her. "If nothing else will suit you, yes," answered Westerfelt, calmly.
He's a bad egg an' tricky." When Bradley had gone, leaving his guest in the dark, Westerfelt found himself unable to sleep for thinking of what Luke had said. "I wonder, really," he mused, "why I didn't talk to her as I did to the others, for I certainly wanted to bad enough." Westerfelt's room at the stable was at the head of a flight of steps leading up from the office.
Bradley was saying: "I want you to get acquainted with my Fannin young man, Harriet. He's mighty nice." At that moment Harriet caught Westerfelt's eye again, and knew that he had heard the remark. She nodded, and said, evasively, "You are having a nice dance, Mrs. Bradley; they all seem to be enjoying it very much." Westerfelt had not heard her voice before, and he liked it.
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