“Did a snake bite ye, stranger?—or did ye hear suthin’?” inquired Old Blaze.
“What do you want of her?” roughly asked Wormley.
“Axin’ questions may be a good way to help a feller when he’s in trouble. Ef it is, stranger, ye’re a friend that it’ll allers do to bet on. Ef a red-skin should be a-skelpin’ of me, I reckon ye’d want to ax how old I was, and what was my mammy’s name, afore ye’d pull the crittur off. Then it mought be too late.”
“What do you want of Dove-eye? I ask.”
“Thar it is ag’in. Old Blaze ain’t a bit hard of hearin’, or of seein’, either. I reckon, from yer way of speakin’, that the gal is hyarabouts. What I want of her is, jest to see her and speak to her. Ef ye’ll hunt her up and tell her that, it’ll be a favor.”
“Tell me what business you have with her, and I will send her to you.”
“Business! Wal, that beats me! Ain’t I in a purty fix, tied up hyar, to ’tend to any kind of business? Ef ye allow that I’ve got a note ag’in the gal, and want her to pay it, ye’re as much mistaken as ef ye’d bit yer nose off, thinkin’ it mought be a chunk of buffler-hump. But thar’s Dove-eye herself, I do believe. Yes; thar ain’t no mistakin’ her, when a man has onct seen her.”
The hunter began to telegraph to the girl with great earnestness. Wormley, who saw he was bound to attract the attention of Dove-eye, and who had reasons of his own for not wishing to meet her then and there, turned and walked away.
“That’s all the good I’ll git out of him,” muttered Old Blaze. “Wonder ef he ain’t a little bit ashamed of hisself. This ole hoss don’t mean to forgit him, sartin.”