“Hol’ on!” the latter exploded in the abrupt way that seemed habitual. “I’m a-travelin’ your way. If ye want a ride, set in. ’Lizy, git some sense. This feller’s right—I dunno him. But I’m a-goin’ to know him if he’s willin’. An’ as fur’s Nat an’ Snake’s concerned, I been takin’ care o’ myself seventy-three year an’ I figger to keep on doin’ it. What say, stranger? Walk or ride?”
“Ride, if it doesn’t get you into trouble,” Douglas acquiesced.
“No trouble. Snakes an’ yeller dawgs has bit at me before an’ I ain’t dead. Chk! Hoss, g’yapalong! G’yap, I tell ye!”
The white horse, sedately cropping grass, took a few last bites, and came obediently. His master climbed spryly into the weather-beaten wagon and rolled an equally weather-beaten thumb at the rear. Douglas heaved his pack in behind and swung himself to the seat beside the driver.
The sharp-faced female screamed out with a fresh burst of abuse. Old Eb’s mouth tightened, and he lightly touched the horse with his whip. The animal jumped in an astonished way and began slowly, heavily pounding along the road. Woman, man, dogs and house disappeared behind in a drifting cloud of dust.
“Ain’t no use listenin’ or talkin’ to a mad woman,” Eb barked conversationally. “Ain’t no use into it at all. Uh—right fine weather we’re a-havin’, stranger.”
“Right fine,” agreed Douglas. “Aren’t you worried about riding with a detective, Mr. Wilham?”
The keen eyes shot at him and returned to the horse.
“Not a mite. I ride with who I want to. Folks that’s scairt o’ detectives mostly has some reason to be. I ain’t got no reason.”
“Found—one honest man in the Traps,” laughed Douglas.