“Did you know his brother?”
“Right well. What a good-for-nothing, unlucky devil he was. It aint good policy to marry among them Greasers. I’ve clean lost sight o’ their boy. Reckon he’s dead. I’m looking for a man by the name of ‘Bruce,’ in Virginia City, though God Almighty knows if he had a right to the title. He was a slicker, and buncoed Fred Genung along with myself. I’m ’biding my time, and if ever again I set eyes on him, one of us is goin’ to glory ’cross-lots!”
“But that is a long time ago, and he may either be dead or greatly changed,” returned Jack.
“Well,” replied Watson, “it is a good many years ago since he run that Faro Bank in Virginia City, and I reckon he is changed; but unless he’s got a bran-new face, I’d know him in Africa. Look-a-here, young man, no one can ever say that Tim Watson cheated him out of one cent, and this miserable hound is the only critter that ever got the best of Tim Watson. I’ll give him a chance to settle and if he don’t—” Here Watson’s face became purple and Jack hastily changed the subject.
Tim Watson was a character. His rules of business were inflexible in their honesty and his character bore the closest scrutiny. Men, women and children carried their troubles to him and his sympathies were always with the weaker side. His observant eye discovered something besides broken health in Jack’s face and he determined to keep an eye on the young fellow with the sad eyes.
Arriving at the bank, the young men left Watson there after obtaining a promise from him that he would spend the evening with them at the hotel, which they reached just in time for dinner.
Tim Watson
The next morning Watson and Sevier saw Jack depart by the daily stage for Fredericksburgh, the latter having promised to write immediately on his arrival there, and climbing into the stage, he waved good-bye, carrying with him the picture of whole-souled honesty clad in a hickory shirt.
The great boot was strapped over the baggage behind, everything stowed away, and the driver cracked his whip over the horses’ heads as off they went. The Colorado River was not then bridged and must be forded. The horses were accustomed to it though, and even when the water reached their bellies, they still plunged on. Over the old stage road to Yuma, Arizona, they were going, and were soon climbing the bluffs west of the Colorado. From Austin, the road is one continuous rise, and by nightfall they were travelling over a rolling prairie. Jack’s only companion was a German who neither spoke nor understood one word of English, but was well armed. His own six-shooter, presented to him by Watson, was handy and he had been duly warned as to the character of the country through which they were passing.