“That’s fair,” said Joe, rising. “I never knowed the critter to break a fair promise, Miss Sadie, and you kin trust him.”
Cooney Joe stood up and Black Will slowly arose, with an expression of fearful malice upon his dark face, slowly brushing the dust from his clothing without speaking a word. Cooney Joe had taken up his rifle and stood leaning upon it, a grin of enjoyment stretching his naturally wide mouth.
“Curi’s how things come ’round, ain’t it? I’ve wanted a lick at you fur nigh onto five year an’ never got a chance till now; does me good, this does.”
“Of course you know I’ll have your life for it, Joe Bent,” said Black Will, in a quiet tone.
“Sartin, sartin, if ye kin git it,” replied Cooney Joe. “But don’t forgit that ef I see yer hand go anigh a pistil in a strange company I’ll try to shoot first. ’Member that, don’t ye.”
“I’ll try to remember, Joe,” was the reply. “Now, Miss Wescott, I will say to you what I intended to say when this meddling fool broke in upon us. You shall never live to be the wife of another man. If I can not have you, no one else shall, I swear by every thing I hold true.”
“P’isen critter, ain’t you, Will?” said Cooney Joe, regarding him with a look of benign interest, as a great natural curiosity. “I’ll be individually an’ collectively cussed ef you ain’t a nice picter to go a-talkin’ about marryin’ a gal like Miss Sadie. Why, bu’st my buttons, ef I don’t think she’d ruther have me!”
“I would indeed,” replied Sadie.
“Who asked you to speak, Joe Bent?” said Black Will, savagely. “Keep your distance and live in safety for twenty-four hours, but after that I will take your life, no matter where I meet you.”
“You rare ’round the awfulest kind, don’t ye,” replied Joe, with a merry look. “Dash my bacon ef you ain’t a study fur a painter. I’ve see’d chaps in the theater at St. Louis that rared ’round the stage jest as you do now, but somehow they allus got special hail kolumbia in the end. Now git; I don’t want to say any thing more but git.”