“Hum! I figgered from what Welliver said a spell back that he wasn’t tickled to death with you and your doin’s. You hain’t a bit afraid who you’re suspicious of, be you?”
“I’ve got to be suspicious of everybody—and I’m going to be till I know who can be trusted.”
“Kind of suspected me a mite, eh? Figgered I was tarred with the Welliver and Moran stick?”
“I got to thinking pretty hard when I saw you with them the morning after my row with Welliver. You seemed to be pretty good friends.”
“Calc’late we be. Knowed ’em a long time.”
“Judge, you don’t need any more to show you I’ve a bad situation to deal with. I came to you—I don’t just know why I came to you. On impulse, I expect.”
“Sudden Jim,” said Zaanan, with a chuckle.
“You’ve heard that, eh?”
“Yes. You was sayin’ you come to me on impulse. Must ’a’ figgered I’d be some use to you. Nobody’d climb a greased pole if ’twa’n’t for the five-dollar bill tacked on top of it. Was you wantin’ advice or money or the loan of my shot-gun?”
“I think,” said Jim, slowly, “that what brought me here was a vague sort of hope of finding a friend. When a fellow’s up against a fight he feels lonesome. He likes to know there’s somebody besides himself to depend on. I had no reason to expect it—quite the contrary, perhaps. Anyhow, I believe you could help me with this particular problem if you wanted to.”