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Updated: June 6, 2025
I'd give anything ... Are you listening?" "Yes, Minky, you'd give anything " "I'd give everything everything I possess to know what the Thing-in-itself is." "I'd rather know Arabic. Or how to make a gun that would find its own range and feed itself with bullets sixty to the minute." "That would be only knowing a few; more things. I want the thing. Reality, Substance, the Thing-in-itself.
The only possible chance of estimating the truth would be to question his associates as to their opinion. And even then such opinions would be biased by personal understanding of the man, and so would be of but small account. Thus Minky would probably have declared that his decision was the result of his desire for the welfare of the community in which he claimed his best friends.
But Minky caught him, and he steadied himself. "I'm beat," the horseman cried desperately. "For mercy's sake hand me a horn o' whisky." He flung himself down on the edge of the veranda, leaving his jaded beast to anyone's care. He was too far spent to think of anything or anybody but himself. Falling back against the post he closed his eyes while the silent crowd looked on stupidly.
"Where did they sleep?" "Don't know. Nobody seems to know." Minky sighed audibly. And Bill went on eating. "Ain't heerd nothing o' Zip?" the storekeeper inquired presently. "No." "'Bout that mare o' yours?" Bill's face suddenly flushed, and his fierce brows drew together in an ominous frown, but he made no answer. Minky saw the change and edged off. "It's time he was gettin' around." Bill nodded.
And at last his words gasped haltingly upon the still air. "Their plugs wasn't fresh. Mine was. That give me the legs of 'em. But they rode hard, an' " His voice died down to a whistling gasp and his eyes closed. He was sinking fast. Minky forced more brandy between his lips. And presently the drooping eyelids widened, and a momentary strength lifted the weakening body.
Bill's sharp eyes were suddenly lifted from his plate. He was eating noisily. "Did you locate 'em the strangers?" he grated. "That's sure the pinch," said Minky, wiping his broad forehead with a colored handkerchief. The heat in the dining-room was oppressive. "I've never see 'em before, an' they didn't seem like talkin' a heap.
No information otherwise was forthcoming for them from either Minky or the president, and all attempt to extort any was promptly nipped in the bud by the latter without the least compunction or courtesy. Sandy resented this attitude. Sunny complained of the lack of confidence.
But he had only come to ascertain if Wild Bill was about. No, the gambler had not been seen. Someone jocularly suggested that he and Zip were out visiting Sandy Joyce upon their claim. None of the three had been seen that morning. But the levity was allowed to pass without a smile, and Minky disappeared again into the back regions of his store. After that the time passed even more slowly.
They tore through the plantation as if nothing had happened, clearing all the brooks in a business-like way. Mr. Ponsonby took brook-jumping as the serious and delightful thing it was. Going home across the fields they held each other's hands, like children. "Minky," he said, "I don't like to think of you hanging out of top-storey windows."
But as they disappeared through the doorway he turned to the gambler, and, in surprise, discovered that he was reclining in a chair, stretched out in an attitude of repose, with his shrewd eyes tightly closed. He was about to speak when the swing-doors opened, and two strangers strolled in. Minky greeted them, "Howdy?" and received an amiable response.
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