"You ain't going to send me out such a night as this, when I've rode fifty mile a'ready?" said Morton.
"What in thunder'd you ride fifty mile to-day fer? Yer health, I reckon. Now, stranger, I've jist got one word to say to you, and that is this ere: Putt! PUTT THIRECKLY! Clar out of these 'ere diggin's! That's all. Jist putt!"
The young man pronounced the vowel in "put" very flat, as it is sounded in the first syllable of "putty," and seemed disposed to add a great many words to this emphatic imperative when he saw how much Morton was disinclined to leave the warm hearth. "Putt out, I say! I ain't afeard of none of yer gang. I hain't got nary 'nother word."
"Well," said Morton, "I have only got one word—I won't! You haven't got any right to turn a stranger out on such a night."
"Well, then, I'll let the reggilators know abouten you."
"Let them know, then," said Morton; and he drew nearer the fire.
The strapping young fellow straightened himself up and looked at Morton in wonder, more and more convinced that nobody but an outlaw would venture on a move so bold, and less and less inclined to attempt to use force as his conviction of Morton's desperate character increased. Goodwin, for his part, was not a little amused; the old mischievous love of fun reasserted itself in him as he saw the decline of the young man's courage.
"If you think I am one of Micajah Harp's band, why don't you be careful how you treat me? The band might give you trouble. Let's have something to eat. I haven't had anything since last night; I am starving."
"Marm," said the young man, "git him sompin'. He's tuck the house and we can't help ourselves."
Morton had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and in his amusement at the success of his ruse and in the comfortable enjoyment of food after his long fast his good spirits returned.