On the road, Jeff, in a few hurried sentences, told his story. Bill scarcely seemed to listen. “Look yar, Jeff,” he said suddenly.
“Yes, Bill.”
“If the worst happens, and ye go under, you'll tell your father, IF I DON'T HAPPEN TO SEE HIM FIRST, it wasn't no job of mine, and I did my best to get ye out of it.”
“Yes,” said Jeff, in a faint voice.
“It mayn't be so bad,” said Bill, softening; “they KNOW, d—n 'em, we've got a pile aboard, ez well as if they seed that agent gin it ye, but they also know we've pre-pared!”
“I wasn't thinking of that, Bill; I was thinking of my father.” And he told Bill of the gambling episode at Sacramento.
“D'ye mean to say ye left them hounds with a thousand dollars of yer hard-earned—”
“Gambling gains, Bill,” interrupted Jeff quietly.
“Exactly! Well!” Bill subsided into an incoherent growl. After a few moments' pause, he began again. “Yer ready as ye used to be with a six-shooter, Jeff, time's when ye was a boy, and I uster chuck half-dollars in the air fur ye to make warts on?”
“I reckon,” said Jeff, with a faint smile.