“I’m the most hated man in this region where hatreds grow like weeds.”
“You mean because you have stood out for the enforcement of law?”
The other nodded, “It has taken me a lifetime,” he observed, “to learn that the mountains are stronger, if not more obstinate, than I.”
“Is that the only reason they hate you?” inquired the visitor, and the lawyer, removing the pipe stem 81 from his teeth, regarded him for a space in silence. Then he commented quietly:
“If you knew this country better, you wouldn’t have to ask that question. In Athens, I believe, they ostracized Aristides because he was ‘too just a man.’”
“Nonetheless, I’m glad I came to you.”
Cappeze smiled gravely. He had a rude sort of dignity which Spurrier found beguiling; a politeness that sprang from a deeper rooting than mere formula.
“Merely coming to see me—once in a while—won’t damn you, I reckon. A man has a license to be interested in freaks. But take my advice, and I sha’n’t be offended. Tell every one that you hold no brief for me and listen with an open mind when they blackguard me.”
Spurrier laughed. “In a place where assassination is said to come cheap, you have at least been able to take care of yourself, sir.”
“That,” said the other slowly, “is as it happens. My partner was less lucky. My own luck may break some day.”