"I ain't no way skeered," was Scott's answer. He had a hoarse, damp voice that suggested the sound of rum gurgling out of a jug. His red face indicated that he was himself too fond of the look and taste of fire-water.
"Ye got to git erway from here I tell ye," Solomon insisted.
Scott stroked his sandy beard and answered: "I guess I know my business 'bout as well as you do."
"Le's go back to Cherry Valley, Bill," the woman urged.
"Oh, keep yer trap shet," Scott said to her.
"He's as selfish as a he-bear," said Solomon as he and Jack were leaving soon after daylight. "Don't think o' nuthin' but gittin' rich. Keeps swappin' firewater fer land an' no idee o' the danger."
They left the woman in tears.
"It's awful lonesome here. I'll never see ye ag'in," she declared as she stood wiping her eyes with her apron.
"Here now--you behave!" Solomon exclaimed. "I'll toddle up to your door some time next summer."
"Mirandy is a likely womern--I tell ye," Solomon whispered as they went away. "He is a mean devil! Ain't the kind of a man fer her--nary bit. A rum bottle is the only comp'ny he keers fer."