“Light out o’ there!” he commanded.
“But I hate to run away, and—”
“The way things stand now in the village you’ll be made the goat,” he insisted. “And if you get clear of the gang part there’s your uncle to reckon with. He has been stamping around the tavern and telling about you. I don’t blame him much. What in sanup did you betray own folks for?”
I couldn’t tell him.
“After what you did to him you can’t expect me and others to say nay if he takes it out of your hide. Trigging own folks in a regular hoss dicker comes nearer to being a crime than anything the judge can lay against you. So you’ve got to simplify matters by getting out of town. You mustn’t stay here and get hurt, son. Climb, I tell ye!”
So I climbed.
He led me down into a lane and pushed me into a top buggy whose curtained sides hid me well. He crawled in after me and drove off at a good dip.
“I have written that letter to my brother,” he said, after a time. “Here it is.” He put it into my hands. “How much money have you got about you?”
I was never at any loss in those days as to my exact financial standing.
“Three dollars and sixty-four cents, sir.”