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He was talking to Van and White and several other men at one of the tables in the store. Whisky had brightened his eyes, which had been quietly smiling for some time as the talk of Bill went round. Then he suddenly bent forward and arrested the general attention. "Say, boys," he cried, "here's a good one for you. What's the diff'rence between Wild Bill and Minky?" Van promptly guffawed.
And Sandy watched him with some concern. "You you ain't takin' a bath?" he inquired nervously. "Don't talk foolish," cried Bill, and turned again to his scrutiny of the shelf. "What else you got? Any stummick physic?" "Sure." Minky held up a small bottle of tabloids. "Camel-hell," he said, with the assurance of a man who knows the worth of the article he is offering for sale.
He came and sat on her bed as he used to do years ago when she was afraid of the ghost in the passage. "I shan't be away for ever, Minky. Only five years." "Yes, but you'll be twenty-six then, and I shall be nineteen. We shan't be ourselves." "I shall be my self. Five years isn't really long." "You you'll like it, Mark. There'll be jungles with bisons and tigers." "Yes. Jungles." "And polo."
"I sure will," he said, rearing his great length up, and moving across to the counter. "I'll take Rye, mister, an' thank you. This is Mr. Minky, gents. My name's Bill." The introduction acknowledged, talk flowed freely.
When he talked to you his mouth and eyes looked as if they liked it. Mark came and said, "Minky, if you stodge like that you'll get all flabby." It wasn't nice of Mark to say that before Mr. Ponsonby, when he knew perfectly well that she could jump her own height. "Me flabby? Feel my muscle." It rose up hard under her soft skin. "Feel it, Mr. Ponsonby." "I say what a biceps!"
"A cattle-thief," broke in Sandy. "A 'bad man' of the worst," nodded Minky. "He's all these, an' more," went on Bill, scowling. "He's a low-down skunk, he's a pestilence, he's a murderer. You're goin' to hunt him back ther' to his own shack in the foothills with his gang of toughs around him, an' you're goin' to make him hand back your wife. Say, you're sure crazy. He'll kill you.
"He scattered the tadpoles, and set 'em agog, Hey! nod-noddy-all head and no body! Oh, mammy! Oh, minky! " O, mercy, mercy! it makes me sweat for shame." Now meantime I had been searching about the garden, and was lucky enough to find a tool shed, and inside of this a ladder hanging, which now I carried across and planted beneath the window.
He had borrowed these guns from Minky, the same as he had borrowed the mule and buckboard. They were fine weapons, too. He had tried them. Oh, no, if it came to shooting he would give a different account of himself this time. Mr. James must look to himself. So must Abe Conroy. He would have no mercy. And he frowned darkly down at the gigantic weapons.
Without a word the men filed out of the store, each one with his thoughts bent upon the possibilities of acquiring the knowledge necessary. Bill watched the men depart. The stolid Minky, too, followed them with his eyes.
It was some time before he could reach his friend, but finally he got him to himself as he was poring over a big cash-book. The storekeeper looked up. Nor had he any greeting for his visitor. He was still dazed at the gambler's purpose. And somehow it was the latter who had to speak first. "You done it good, Minky," he said amiably.
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