“Why, I’ll tell you, now. You see, I got some pull with her—the fair captive. She used to lick me, but she don’t dast to try it on here on a desert island: so I got some pull. An’ like enough you c’d talk it over with Black Bart.”
“Nuh—uh! I don’t like to.”
“Why?”
“Well, I don’t. He’s all right.”
“Yes, but we got to get ’em together!”
“Shore. But, my idea, he’s hard to get together if he gets a notion he ain’t had a square deal nohow, someways.”
“Well, he ain’t. So that makes my part the hardest. But you just go to him, and tell him not to hurry, because you are informed the fair captive is goin’ to relent, pretty soon, if we just don’t get in too big a hurry and run away from a place like this—where the duck shootin’ is immense!”
“But kin you work her, Jimmy?”
“Well, I dunno. She’s pretty set, if she thinks she ain’t had a square deal, too.”
“Well now,” argued Lafitte, “if that’s the way they both feel, either they’re both wrong an’ ought to shake hands, or else one of ’em’s wrong, and they either ought to get together an’ find out which it was, or else they ought to leave it to some one else to say which one was wrong. Ain’t that so?”