The bright old eyes dwelt on him, and an answering smile lifted the white mustache.
“Gorry, ye look funny with them eyes all bunged up,” chuckled Eb. “Snake’s got a hard fist, ain’t he? I wisht I could been a peewee bird up into a tree an’ seen that fight. It must of been good. Wal, son, if ye can lick Snake mebbe ye can handle whatever ye see round this house. I’ll stop here an’ visit with ye to-morrer, mebbe, when I come back. Shall I fetch ye some food from High Falls?”
“I wish you would. Lots of it. And some tobacco.”
“Smokin’ or chawin’?”
“Smoking. And for food get whatever comes handy. I’m not fussy.”
He drew out a small wallet. Uncle Eb waved it aside.
“Pay me when ye git yer stuff, boy. I dunno yit what it’ll cost. I’ll git jest what I’d buy for myself. Then if—if ye ain’t here to-morrer I can use it to home. G’by. G’yapalong!”
The hoofs hammered again into the sand. In a fresh cloud of dust the rickety wagon rolled away and was gone among the trees beyond.
Douglas shoved his wallet back into its pocket and stood a minute eyeing the little house glooming under the solemn pines. Then, reaching to his pack, he pulled from under its straps his coat. From that garment he drew two buckshot shells. Coolly he reloaded his gun.
“I reckon I’ll be here to-morrow when you come back, Uncle Eb,” he muttered. “Now, Mister Ha’nt, let’s get acquainted.”