"I guess I understand, Benny," he said, after a moment. "I'm pretty sure I do."
"He's ... He's as low as a snake's belly, ain't he, Bruce?"—as if for reassurance.
"Yes, an' he'd be lower, Benny, if there was anythin' lower," he remarked, grimly.
"He can shoot though; watch him, Benny! I've seen him beat th' best of us at a turkey shootin'."
"That's what makes me feel easy about it. I wouldn't want to kill a man that couldn't shoot as good as I can, anyhow."
Benny Lynch departed, still unsmiling, very serious, and, as Bayard watched him ride away, he shook his head in perplexity.
"I wish I was as free to act as you are," he thought. "But I ain't; an' your tellin' me has dug my hole just that much deeper!"
He looked out over the valley a long moment. It was bright under the afternoon sun but somehow it seemed, for him, to be queerly shadowed.