I crept up close. The widow was calling the Jackleg everything that a perfect lady as she was, you know, could lay her tongue to, and he trying to blast a crack in the oratory to slip a word into.
"I dislike," said Lungy, "to disturb privacy; but we want your man to show us the way."
"Who the devil are you?" said the sheriff.
"My name—" began Lungy.
"Whativer it is, sorr," said the widow, "it's a betther name nor his you shpake to—the black far-down, afther taking me man and lavin' me shtarve wid me babbies he robbed iv what the coort give! But as long as I've a tongue in me hid to hould, ye'll not know where he's hid!"
And just then down behind me comes Pete on a fair-sized cayuse branded with a double X.
"Dat bane you, Bill?" said he casual-like. "You most skar me!"
I flagged him back a piece and told him the Jackleg was there. He ran, and I had to rope him.
"You're nervous, Pete," said I, helping him up. "What's the matter?"
"Dis blame getaway biz," he said, "bane purty tough on fallar. Ay listen an' yump all tem nights!"