“I never saw anybody carry a gun like that before,” Louise continued.
“It can be drawn more quickly, without appearing to reach for the pocket,” Lockwood explained.
She gave him a peculiar, questioning look, though efficiency in drawing a gun was something that her experience of life must have made familiar.
“You’re not expecting to have to draw it quickly, are you?”
“I never shot anybody in my life, and I never was shot at. But you never can tell,” he returned, edging his still suspicious horse past the place where the snake had lain. He wanted to get off this dangerous subject of pistols.
“I might send a nigger back this evening for that snake,” he suggested. “Would you like its skin for a belt?”
“Not for me, thanks. I don’t——” she began, and stopped.
A man had come out from a bypath into the trail, silently as a wild animal, a few yards in front. He was a white man, shabby and bearded, carrying a shotgun. As he passed the horses he took off his battered felt hat respectfully and Louise muttered a curt “howdy.” Lockwood caught a glimpse of the great blue powder-mark on the exposed forehead. Louise shook her horse into a fast canter. As Lockwood glanced over his shoulder he saw the riverman standing still and gazing after them.
CHAPTER XI
THE WARNING
“So you know Blue Bob,” he remarked, overtaking the girl after some fifty yards.