"Yes, there was a man here like that in the face. I didn't see his heart," I said.
"Which way?" raved Mr. Pryor. "Which way? Is he at your house?"
Then I saw that he had the reins in his left hand, and a big revolver in his right. So there was no mistake about whether he'd really shoot. But that gun provoked me. People have no business to be careless with those things. They're dangerous!
"He didn't do what you think he did," I cried, "and he can prove he didn't, if you'll stop cavorting, and listen to reason."
Mr. Pryor leaned over the fence, dark purple like a beet now.
"You tell me where he is, or I'll choke it out of you," he said.
I guess he meant it. I took one long look at his lean, clawlike fingers, and put both hands around my neck.
"He knew Thomas saw him. He went that way," I said, waving off toward the north.
"Hah! striking for petticoats, as usual!" he cried, and away he went in the direction of his house. Then I flew for the Station.
"Come from there, quick!" I cried. "I've sent him back to his house, but when he finds you're not there, he will come here again. Hurry, and I'll put you in the woodshed loft. He'd never think of looking there."