“That’s right, Steve. You’re all right, ’cept a little cut and a bump. Tell me quick—how long you been out? Are they after you?”
A savage smile twisted the thin mouth.
“I dunno if they’re trackin’ me—I reckon so. I ain’t seen ’em. I got ’way Monday night, an’ I ain’t goin’ back till I git Snake Sanders. Cuss him, he put me away—an’ I never done it, Marry, I never! It was Snake done it! An’ I got the blame. Three years I been doin’ time—but I’ll take them three years outen him quick’s I git to a gun! Yas, an’ all the rest of his life too! I’ll——”
“Don’t you! He’ll git you, not you git him. You might’s well try to git a copperhead by grabbin’ onto him with your bare hands. And you’ve got to keep out till the officers quit huntin’—they’ll be into here, if they ain’t here now. Don’t you go near the house or a gun—don’t move or make a noise till I tell you, or you’re a goner! Now gimme that jug and I’ll put it back. We’ve got to go quick to some other hide-out—there’s been shootin’ up here and we don’t know who’ll come—gimme that jug!”
“Not till I git ’nother big snort under my shirt,” refused Steve, lifting the jug in unsteady hands. “I ain’t et much for four days, an’——”
“Gimme that jug!” she stormed. “Know whose it is? Snake’s!”
The boy started as if stung. His grip relaxed, and she yanked the jug from him and grabbed up the corn-cob. Douglas noticed, in an absent way, that the clay was smeared with a streak of green paint.
“Snake’s? I been drinkin’ that varmint’s licker?” raged Steve. “I’d ruther lap up p’ison! Gimme that jug back! I’ll bust it!”
“No you won’t!” She backed off. “He’s right round here now somewheres, I shouldn’t wonder, a-sneakin’ and a-slidin’ along, and you’ve got to lay low awhile—you ain’t even got a gun. I’m goin’ to put this right back where ’twas. You keep quiet.”
She hobbled away. Steve struggled to rise and overtake her, but found himself powerless in the grip of Douglas.