"Shot to pieces heah on Hellsfork, fightin' the revenuers an' th' McGills! I kin lead yo' to their bones down yonder!" He pointed his trooper's hat trembling in his outstretched hand.
"An' whut air I heah fer t'-night? Yo'-all ain't 'lowin' to fix nothin' on the onlyst Orlick left, cap'n?"
Throughout this fervent defense not for one instant did the piercing, chill eyes of old Lutts leave the boy's face.
"Orlick," he began slowly, "I hain't studyin' 'bout the past. Hit's the time a comin'. I jest axed yo', have yo' been over in Southpaw?"
"Naw, I hain't!" declared Orlick, flushing slightly.
"Have yo' snooked with the revenuers below?"
"Not by er damn sight!"
"Leastways," observed the old man as he drew back, "I 'low yo're in bad company, son; but ef yo' ever cross Hellsfork er I know plumb sho' thet yo' snook with th' revenuers below, don't never 'low me t' git eyes on ye', Orlick."
"Don't force th' old man t' lift a hand agin' yo' pint-blank, git out o' th' mountings first. Now, yo' boys go an' fetch th' stranger party up. Ef hit's thet infernal ghost-dog revenuer, don't skeer em off—bring em up, quick! Ef hit's a sheriff, don't hurt his feelin's—bring em up, cose I'm lonesome like."
Orlick fully understood the import of Cap Lutts' parting words, and, casting a covert look toward the cabin where he knew Belle-Ann lingered in the shadows, he swaggered along after Lem, leading his horse. And the while a bold design shaped itself in his perfidious heart as he pretended loyal friendship to the silent boy trudging beside him.