“You boys,” he said to Leach and Morley, “come purty near goin’ too fur that time. Some o’ these days when ye get rambunctious with me, I’ll take a stick and knock yer gysh-danged heads off. Heh-heh-heh!”
Despite the rather serious aspect of the situation, Charmian burst into a fit of laughter. Nothing could have been milder than the tone that Shirttail Henry used in reproaching his assailants. And his grin, together with the cackling laugh that followed his words of censure, took all of the menace out of his speech. Time and again in later days she was to hear Shirttail Henry utter dire threats of vengeance on some one, but invariably the sting was taken from his venomous tirade by the cracked “heh-heh-heh” that followed it.
Morley and Leach glowered at him, but made no further move to molest him. They knew that they were “in bad” with the prospective buyers of their mining properties, so they held their peace and did not struggle to free themselves.
It was Charmian who broke the silence that followed Shirttail Henry Richkirk’s prophecy.
“This is a fine set of proceedings,” she said witheringly. “Mr. Richkirk, if you care to, we’d like to have you camp with us to-night. We—I mean the greenhorns of the party—are ready and willing to do anything to make amends for the inhospitable treatment Mr. Leach and Mr. Morley have shown you. And if you feel inclined to tell me what you hinted at—about opals, you know—I’ll certainly be glad to hear it.”
But to her surprise Shirttail Henry had half turned from her and was gazing through a break in the buttes at the distant mountains. The moon was showering its pale radiance on the desert. Shirttail Henry extended one of his long arms and pointed to a tiny cloud above the distant range, which the moonlight now revealed.
“See that cloud?” he asked. “Well, that means Shirttail Henry and Lot’s Wife have gotta go. I can’t stay with ye to-night, ma’am—thank ye kindly. I gotta be gettin’ to Shirttail Bend right quick, for maybe that cloud means rain. C’m’on, Mrs. Lot.” He hurried to the burro and grabbed up the lead-rope. “Good night, people. I’ll see ye maybe to-morrow, ma’am, an’ tell ye about the opals. Good night, all—and thank ye kindly!”
With the newcomers staring after him in wonderment, he hustled his dejected pack animal out of camp, and they faded away into the desert night.
“Well, of all things!” gasped Mary Temple.
“You can see for yourselves,” said Leach, with a note of doggedness in his tones, “that he’s a regular nut. He’s a hermit and lives all alone up there, not seeing anybody in months. He traps and fishes, and makes out in a disreputable cabin, with only his burro for company. He’s the biggest nuisance imaginable, and, besides, he’s dangerously insane.”