“That we was goin’ to roll up our sleeves and lick the pants off’n ’em,” said Dolf, belligerently.
“Don’t calc’late you’d say I was perty hard hit? Eh? Sort of insinuate the blow bore down on my threescore and ten year? Nor that there didn’t seem to be scarcely any fight left in me?”
“Dummed if I—” began Dolf. Then he stopped and looked at Zaanan. “Guess maybe that’s about what I’d say,” he responded, presently.
“G’-by, Dolf,” said Zaanan.
“G’-by, Judge,” said Dolf.
“Tain’t only me,” said Zaanan, after a time, “it’s the sheriff and the prosecutor and the circuit judge—the whole kit and b’ilin’ of us. There won’t be a decent official left in the county. Law and justice’ll be bought and sold and traded in like so much farm produce.”
“I want to help if I can,” said Jim.
“Calc’late I’ll need what help I kin git. Moran don’t usually start a job he can’t see his way to finish. I’ll call on you when you’re needed. Louis Le Bar lives four mile to the west. How’s things at the widder’s? Do consid’able cacklin’ over you, does she?” He stopped and scratched his head and appeared to ponder. “Say, young feller,” he said, in a few moments, “what’s your special grudge ag’in Moran? Tain’t jest his business dealin’s with you. It’s him you want to git at, ree-gardless. What’s he done to you?”
“There’s a girl up at Mrs. Stickney’s—” Jim began, slowly.
“Um!” grunted Zaanan, and his eyes twinkled. “Moran hain’t in no position to cut you out with a girl. He’s got more wife ’n he knows what to do with now.”