“I ain’t got no power of knowin’ thet.” Mosebury spoke dryly. “An’ es I said afore, hit ain’t none of my business nohow—still I does know thet ye’ve been over hyar some sev’ral times, an’ every time ye came, ye came quietlike es ef ye sought ter see Sim afore Sim seed you.”
“You think I’ve been here before?”
“No, sir, I don’t think hit. I knows hit. I seed ye.”
“Saw me!”
“Yes, sir, seed ye. Hit’s my business to keep a peeled eye in my face.”
So Spurrier’s careful secrecy had been transparent after all, and if this man was an ally of Colby’s, Colby already shared his knowledge. More than ever Spurrier felt sure that his suspicions of the man whose eyes had changed color, were grounded in truth.
“Howsomever,” went on Mosebury quietly, “I ain’t nuver drapped no hint ter Sim erbout hit. I ain’t, gin’rally speakin’, no meddler, but ef so be I kin forewarn 219 ye ergainst harm, hit would pleasure me ter do hit.”
There was a cordial ring of sincerity in the manner and voice, which it was hard to doubt, so the other said gravely:
“Thank you. I did suspect Colby, but I have no proof.”
“I don’t know whether Sim grudges ye or not,” continued Mosebury. “He ain’t nuver named ther matter ter me nowise, guise, ner fashion—but Sim wasn’t with ther crowd thet went atter ye. He didn’t even know nothin’ erbout hit. Sometimes a man comes to grief by barkin’ up ther wrong tree.”