“Wal, listen,” said Harold, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Here’s a piece o’ news! one o’ them gals has run away—from her pap! And he’s a rich man, and has offered a good reward to them as ketches ’er. The gal’s name is Margie Wilkison. If you and me could ketch ’er—see—” he jingled his money in his pockets—“we’d go fifty-fifty! Huh?”
The woman regarded him for a moment distrustfully. “I don’t know about that,” she said doubtfully. “How can I believe you?”
Harold took a five dollar gold piece out of his pocket, and held it alluringly close to her, so that she might see it in spite of the darkness.
“This is yours—and more later,” he said, “if you promise to help me all you can. I don’t mean to harm the gal in any way; I jest want ’a keep ’er a prisoner yere till we get word to her pap. Then—maybe—five hundred a piece fer you and me!”
The woman could not resist such a tempting offer; her eyes sparkled in the darkness, and she seized the gold piece with greedy hands.
“Sure you ain’t doin’ no kind o’ kidnappin’?” she asked sharply.
“I give you my word of it!” he replied solemnly. “But remember, whatever I say, you must pertend to her is true. For instance—you and me pertend to be married. You treat me like your old man! And can I sleep in the loft of your barn?”
“I reckon!” answered the woman. “Want sumpthin’ to eat?”
“No, thanks; I had my supper.”
“How ’bout a nice ripe peach? My peaches is supposed to be the best in this here township.”