“College pup!” said Hawley, under his breath, savagely. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”
“Was it any of your business, Abe?” she rejoined, quietly.
“Hiding him away here—”
“Hiding? Who’s been hiding him? He’s doing what you’ve done. He’s smuggling—the last lot for the traders over by Dingan’s Drive. He’ll get it there by morning. He has as much right here as you. What’s got into you, Abe?”
“What does he know about the business? Why, he’s a college man from the East. I’ve heard o’ him. Ain’t got no more sense for this life than a dicky-bird. White-faced college pup! What’s he doing out here? If you’re a friend o’ his, you’d better look after him. He’s green.”
“He’s going East again,” she said, “and if I don’t go West with Bantry, or South over to Montana with Nick Pringle, or North—”
“Nance!” His eyes burned, his lips quivered.
She looked at him and wondered at the power she had over this bully of the border, who had his own way with most people, and was one of the most daring fighters, hunters, and smugglers in the country. He was cool, hard, and well in hand in his daily life, and yet, where she was concerned, “went all to pieces,” as some one else had said about himself to her.
She was not without the wiles and tact of her sex. “You go now, and come back, Abe,” she said, in a soft voice. “Come back in an hour. Come back then, and I’ll tell you which way I’m going from here.”
He was all right again. “It’s with you, Nance,” he said, eagerly. “I bin waiting four years.”