"Where in h—ll are you going?" responded the other.
"Well, it's a rude response, but I will not answer as rudely again. I am seeking work. Can you tell me where I can get some work on a farm?"
"No, not much, you don't want any, either, you d—d thief. Old Pinkerton has already given you a job that will last you as long as you live, I reckon."
And Jesse laughed a cold, hard laugh that meant death. Of course Whicher was helpless, for the other had him under cover of a pistol from the moment he came in sight. But Whicher was dauntless and wary, and, without exhibiting the least trepidation, he said:
"Who do you take me to be? What have I to do with Pinkerton or his business? I am a stranger in the country and want something to do. I don't see why you should keep that pistol pointed at me. I don't know you, and have never done you any wrong."
"Oh, d—n it, you are the kind of a dog that sneaks up and bites, are you? You will carry in the James Boys, will you? You are a nice sneaking cur, ain't you? Want work, do you? What say you, my sneak? Eh?"
The tantalizing manner of Jesse James did not disconcert the detective. He answered these taunts with perfect coolness:
"I don't understand you, sir. I am no cur, and know nothing of the James Boys. I addressed you politely, and you did not return the same. I said I wanted some employment, and you taunt me for it. I must bid you good evening."
With this, Whicher made a step forward. His progress was arrested by the harsh voice of Jesse James.
"You shall die if you move out of your tracks! Keep up your hands!"