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What are you copying it for? letter to your girl?" Dickie had all the Westerner's prejudice against questions, but he felt drawn to this patron of the "hash-hole," so, though he drawled his answer slightly, it was an honest answer. "It ain't my book," he said. "That's why I'm copying it." "Why in thunder don't you take it out, you young idiot?" Dickie colored.
The thing that decided it was the fact that she knew Colonel Louis Washington and had been to Bellair. She promised to introduce him. To make sure of Brown's quixotic instructions about the sword and pistols he must make the trip. The drive in the snug little buggy along the river bank was a red letter experience in the young Westerner's life.
The face and each feature, the high-bridged, haughty nose, the eyes cold and indolent under their long lids, the thin, close line of the mouth separately and in combination struck him as objectionable and repellent. He bowed stiffly, not extending his hand, substituting for the Westerner's "Pleased to meet you," a gruff "How d'ye do, Mr. Mayer."
Nothing could have been more considerate than the Westerner's manner, nothing could have been kinder than his prompt action Bennington saw that his pony, now cropping the brush near at hand, was black with sweat nothing could have been more straightforward than his assistance in the matter of the claims. And yet Bennington de Laney was not satisfied.
"Don't bother about that, de Laney," said he, in a most cavalier fashion. "I'll see to it." "I did not address you, sir!" returned Bennington coldly. The Westerner's eyes twinkled with amusement. The girl interrupted. "Thank you very much, Mr. de Laney, but Mr. Fay is right I wouldn't trouble you." Her eyes commanded Fay, and he moved a little apart.
Never did the Westerner's voice change, and never did the grim half-smile leave his eyes or his mouth. Once during the fight he took off his hat. "How's my hair parted?" he asked, quietly. A Mauser bullet had mowed a path through Abe's thick, upright hair, scraping the skin for three inches, and leaving a trail of tiny, red drops.
Bell spoke, the fellow who had apparently been shot, leaped to his feet and was about to make off, but the Westerner's iron hand seized him by the scruff of the neck, and brought him up "all standing." Simultaneously, Jimsy's captive gave a wrench and a twist and would have escaped but for Peggy. The girl seized a small nickled wrench out of the Golden Butterfly.
He had been so attracted by the girl, and had wished in the beginning so much to be engaged by Mr. Bronson, that he had considered it a mighty disappointment when he had lost the Westerner's card. However, his apathy in the matter was easily explained. He had taken hold of the work on the Atterson place. His plans were growing in his mind for the campaign before him.
Big Tom took One-Eye by either shoulder, those great baboon hands clamping themselves over the top joints of the Westerner's arms. The latter had Barber by the front of his coat and by an elbow. For a moment they hung upon the sill. Then, pivoting, they swung beyond it.
They're organized, and they're in earnest, and I'm with them to the last ditch. They're fighting for the things that this raw new country is most in need of. It will take us some time to catch up with the East. But the westerner's a scrambler, once he's started. I can't get away from the fact, since I know them both, that there's a big gulf between the East and the West.
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