"Aw, you're crazy," muttered Isham, backing off into the crowd, and McIvor let it pass. But when the Scarboroughs were gone he glanced swiftly at Winchester Bassett, who responded with his unruffled smile.
THE GOOD OLD SIMPLE PLAN
Nothing had been further from the intentions of Hall McIvor as he rode forth from the Rock House that morning than that he should join the Bassetts as a friend. He had been sent to join them, yes; but treacherously, as a spy, who was to return and report to Meshackatee. But his heart had ruled his head—he had joined against the Scarboroughs and then slapped Isham in the face—and now that it was over he found himself a turncoat, shaking hands with Winchester Bassett. Yet something still told him that his heart had been right, and that open friendship was better than treachery; and that somehow, somewhere, he would see Allifair again, though never under the protection of the Scarboroughs.
Yet protection he must have, if he was to remain near her at all, and he sought it under the roof-tree of the Bassetts. They lived in a log house set on the edge of the riverbottom, but with its single, narrow door facing away from the creek bed and out upon the level plain. Its timbers were square-hewn, with loop-holes in place of windows, and the fireplace at one end was as massive as the Scarboroughs', with holes near the top for a lookout. A barn and round corral, for breaking horses, stood further along on the bench; and beyond and to the south rose the high, wooded hill which Meshackatee had predicted would be an ambush. A pack of hounds rushed out to greet them, hogs and chickens strayed about the yard; and as Hall rode up to the gate an old white-haired man hobbled out.
"Eh—what was the name?" he quavered anxiously, staring up at him with his farsighted eyes. "Oh, Hall, eh? Well, git down; git down, Mr. Hall. We ain't got much, but what we have you're shorely welcome to—our latch-string is always hung out. What's the news, boys?" he demanded, "did you rout them biggoty Scarboroughs? Well, good, and good again. Them and their no-count Texas gunmen—one Bassett could whip a hundred of 'm!"
"Well, we whipped 'em, Pap!" returned Winchester, "and this gentleman here slapped Isham's face and called him a dirty coward!"
"He did!" exulted Old Henry, turning to take Hall by the arm, "wall now, don't that beat all! And him a stranger, too—but he looks like a fighting man! What did Isham say to that?"