A vindictive glint crept into her eyes.
“So he’s a-pesterin’ ’round ther’, hey? I’ll fix him! I’ll——”
“Get going!”
With that he stepped out and strode up the bank. As he expected, the children were grouped several yards away, eager to spy but afraid to venture too near the lurking “detective.” At sight of him they retreated, ready to flee at the slightest threatening movement. He made none. He had a better plan.
“Well, what are you young folks jabbering about?” he chaffed them. “Can’t a fellow take a smoke under a bridge without your getting all excited about it?”
They dug their toes into the dust, warily watching him. He took a lazy stride, and they gave back instantly—though they did not run. Pausing, he ostentatiously puffed at the pipe still smouldering between his teeth. The ensuing blue haze bore out his claim that he had been smoking.
“What’s this I heard about Snake Sanders?” he pursued. “Snake isn’t there.”
Behind he heard a slight splash. The woman was obeying his command.
“’Tain’t Snake!” yelped the boy who had seen them. “Snake’s woman! Lou Brackett!”
A mocking chorus swelled out, started by those farthest back.