“Well there’s that mare——”
“But you promised not to think of her.”
“How can I help it, I should like to know? She’s gone sure, and there’s that overcoat, that cost me four dollars and a half in Lubec; and Alminy made a big pocket in it on purpose for me to fill full of gold chunks; and I should like to know how I am going to do it, when a Greaser has got it.”
“I am afraid that that would not be the only difficulty you would be likely to experience, Nat, in getting it filled.”
“And my jack-knife was in the coat-pocket, I declare!” exclaimed he, suddenly starting up and pinching alternately one pocket and then another. “Yes, sir, that’s gone, too; that’s worse than all the rest,” he added, despairingly, falling upon his elbow, and gazing abstractedly into the fire.
“That’s a trifling loss, surely, as you have your hunting-knife.”
“I’ve a good notion to get up and go back now,” he added, not heeding my remark. “I’m sick of this business. It’s bad enough to lose the mare, but when the knife is gone I can’t stand it.”
I knew this was but a momentary despondency with my friend, and for the sake of whiling away the time before sleep, I was inclined to humor it.
“But what will you do for that gold that you was going to buy Deacon Hunt’s farm with for your Alminy?”
“Let her go without it,” he answered, gruffly, without removing his gaze from the fire. “She can get along without it. I believe she only coaxed me to go off to Californy to get me out of the way, so that mean Bill Hawkins might take my place. If he does come any such game, he’ll catch it when I get back.”