"Ain't got any, 'cept old age, an' the good Lord done that Himself. Guess He brands us all the same way sooner or later."
"Oh, I don't mean that," retorted the saloon-keeper, somewhat nettled at the laugh from the men at his expense. "I mean, 'What de'ye drink?'"
"Oh, I see," and Pete stroked his beard meditatively. "Wall, t'stimerlate the heart I sometimes drink the water of Life; to freshen up the mind a bit, I swaller a few drops from the mighty spring of Nater; while to keep this old carcase bright I find the good Lord's sparklin' water jist the thing. Have ye ever tried it?"
Perdue was certainly puzzled. It was impossible to take offence at the old man's words, spoken so quietly and impressively. Neither could he detect any sign of fun-making in his open face and kindly eyes. He wondered if this giant were altogether sane. He had often heard stories of men who, living so long in lonely places, had become quite demented. Perhaps this was one of them.
"Yer a stranger here, are ye not?" he asked not ungently. "Where did ye drop from?"
"Jist from the Injun camp up yon."
"What! not from there!" and Perdue looked his surprise.
"Sartin. Been strollin' round, sizin' things up a bit."
"But wasn't ye afraid of the Injuns? I understand they're as mad as hornets."
"Mebbe they be, an' I guess ye're right. But they never sting a friend. They know Pete Martin purty wall by this time."