“Any gentleman wouldn’t be at a loss what to say, fur he would only hev to remark sorter careless like that he had observed the man was acting so queer that we was afeard he was troubled with remorse over some crime he’d committed, and about which he had got notice that the officers was lookin’ fur him, but that if he’d trust us and give a description of the officers, so there wouldn’t be any mistake, we’d watch fur ’em up the trail and pick ’em off afore they could profane New Constantinople with their presence.”
This was a prodigious sentence for Wade, and he leaned back and smoked his pipe with considerable self-complacency, 95 but it impressed none of his hearers as he expected. Parson Brush shook his head.
“It isn’t a very wise way of introducing yourself to a man by assuming that he is a fugitive from justice. In the first place, I am sure there is nothing of the kind in the case of Dawson. He has probably heard some news from the East that troubles him.”
“That’s just what I was sayin’,” broke in Ruggles.
“But not of the nature intimated by you.”
“What else can it be?”
“It might be one of a dozen things; I know you are all wrong in your guesses.”
Every eye was fixed upon the parson, for all were anxious to learn at what he was hinting. His face was unusually grave, but he stopped speaking, as if he deemed it indiscreet to say anything more. He noticed the looks and whetted the curiosity by adding:
“I have been so disturbed over the change in Dawson that I called on him last night and had a talk with him.”
“And what did you learn?” asked Budge Isham, the moment Brush showed an inclination to stop talking.