“Bully.”
And that was all they could think to say. Presently Scott opened his eyes again.
“I'm mighty weak.”
“You'll get better soon.”
“Not much.”
A long silence followed, in which they could hear the sounds of wood-chopping, and that Sandy Bar was already astir for the coming day. Then Scott slowly and with difficulty turned his face to York, and said,—
“I might hev killed you once.”
“I wish you had.”
They pressed each other's hands again, but Scott's grasp was evidently failing. He seemed to summon his energies for a special effort.
“Old man!”