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The little fool forgot that he had not given his father as many chances of betraying him as he had given to Christina. Then it all came out. He owed this at Mrs Cross's, and this to Mrs Jones, and this at the "Swan and Bottle" public house, to say nothing of another shilling or sixpence or two in other quarters.
"Studyin' on it, it seems like I'd seen it in one of them picture shows down in Cheyenne. Right good show, too. It showed a bunch of boys after a hoss thief. He got away." "Haw-haw!" laughed one of the regulars, and suddenly froze to silence. Billy, behind the bar, stood as if petrified, towel in hand. Cross's face, flushed with liquor, blackened in a ferocious scowl. "You !" he roared.
With the exception of my own relations, who were so much my seniors, I had had nothing to bestow my affections on had not even made the acquaintance, I may say, of a woman, unless my casual intercourse with Bob Cross's Mary, indeed, might be so considered.
Asenath, with some vague idea that it would not be honorable to see his face, poor fellow! shrank back into the aspens and the shadow. He towered tall in the twilight as he passed her, and a dull, umber gleam, the last of the sunset, struck him from the west. Struck it out into her sight, the haggard struggling face, Richard Cross's face.
As for Sam Clemens, we shall see what he became as the chapters pass. John Briggs died in 1907; earlier in the same year the writer of this memoir spent an afternoon with him and obtained from him most of the material for this chapter. Sam was at Mr. Cross's school on the Square in due time, and among the pupils were companions that appealed to his gentler side.
"Look here, you fellows," he exclaimed: "some one keeps taking away my things out of the shed, and not putting them back. Last week I missed a saw and two chisels, and now that brace and nearly all the bits are gone. It's a jolly shame!" Carpentering was Cross's great hobby, and his collection of tools was an exceptionally good one, both as regards quantity and quality.
We've wasted the night, but I propose that the telegrams go out at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Hands up for it!" It was a counter-attack which swept everything before it. Every hand in the room except the Bishop's, Furley's, Cross's and Julian's was raised. Fenn led the way towards the door. "We've our work to do, chaps," he said.
I was musing in a half-faint way, the pain and shock having made me feel very sick, when I heard the sounds of the returning party, and to my surprise they brought in the wounded Indian on Cross's back, the poor fellow being in a half-fainting condition from a frightful wound in the right thigh.
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