Jimson, the warehouse boss, who had already shown his interest in Curly, looked quickly around and spied the girls. He made a crooked face and began at once to fence with the deputy.
“What’s that?” he said. “Said I got an escaped prisoner? Who said that, Mr. Ricketts?”
“Yo’ wife, I reckon ’twas, tol’ me the boy was yere.”
“She’s crazy!” declared Jimson with apparent anger. “I dunno what’s got into that woman. I ain’t seen no convict——”
“Who’s talkin’ about a convict, Jimson?” demanded Mr. Ricketts. “D’ yo’ think I’m after some desperado from the swamps? I reckon not.”
“Well, who are you after?” demanded the boss, in great apparent vexation. “I ain’t got him, whoever he is!”
“Not a boy named Henry Smith?”
“What’s he done?”
“I see you’re some int’rested,” said Ricketts, drily. “Come on now, Jimson! I know you. The boy’s a bad lot.”
“Your say-so don’t make him so. And I dunno as I know the boy you mean.”