"Yep; whoopin' crazy," confirmed the cheery voice. "He got crossed some way with somebody 'n' worried hisself wild. Ol' people tell me it's a fam'ly failin'—that mos' of 'em end that way.... This Buck, now, hidin' out this-a-way. 'Tain't nat'r'l, is it?... I dunno."
He shook his head and gazed out over the wide forest with drawn brows.
I did not reply, but slowly reached for my pipe.
"When a feller's in office 'n' 's give a war'int, he's got to serve it, or go yeller. I didn't hanker fur this here 'p'intment, I'm free to say, 'n' if I'd a-knowed Buck's a-hidin' out, be durned if I b'lieve I'd 'a' come! Some'n' 's eatin' on Buck 'sides killin' that mule—you can't tell me!... Well, I mus' be scoutin' on." He got on his feet, drank another cup of water, and stood for a moment gripping the muzzle of his rifle with both hands, its stock grounded between his feet. "Don't s'pose you've laid eyes on 'im'?" he added, in a softer, musing tone.
"No; not since he walked out of the shop that day."
Suddenly the deputy wheeled and faced me.
"Pardner," he said, seriously enough considering the almost bantering note he had formerly employed; "I b'lieve Buck's goin' the same way his pappy did!"
"Why?"
I tried to hold my voice to a brave level, but the monosyllable rang hollow.
"The signs ain't right," came the instantaneous reply. "Buck'd never'd 'a' laid out that mule if he'd been hisseff, in the firs' place. He's shoed young mules by the dozen. In the nex' place he'd 'a' settled with Bart instead o' spittin' in 'is face 'n' damnin' ever'body 'n' the law, too. I've got a notion to lose this pesky war'int 'n' go back to where people live!"