“Well, I try to treat a square man right when I meet him. Do you remember a little scrimmage in the El Dorado a few days ago with a feller in your camp here, named Morris? I guess you wa’n’t there.”
“No,” Bob replied, “I had other business that night. But I heerd about it, and came darned near being hung afterward by a little mistake o’ the boys, who thought I was hiding the feller they bounced out of town so suddent.”
“Didn’t you hear his name?”
“No—nobody knowed him, and I never set eyes on the coon.”
“I’m the man.”
“You?” yelled Bob—surprised fairly out of his wits.
“Yes, that’s me, and I reckon it’s all right.”
“Well, Scotty,” Bob replied. “I’ve drunk with you, and when I drink with a man he’s my friend; but ef I hadn’t you’d have to get right out o’ this, ’cause I aint got use for fellers like you.”
“Now, Mr.—?” The visitor hesitated, in a questioning way, evidently wishing the name to be supplied.
“No matter about the mister, call me Bob as the rest of the boys do. I hain’t mistered you yet.”