“I said he was here, not he is here, sir,” she parried, with emphasis.
He burst into a heavy chuckle, mopped his red face, but kept his hawklike eye riveted on her. “I see. Of course, if he was here you’d jest nacherly out with it, sence they ain’t no reason why you shouldn’t, eh?”
“Well, I declare! You’re awfully clever. You’ve read my mind—almost,” she exclaimed, giving him a radiant, tantalizing smile.
He winced and changed his tactics. When he spoke again it was in a well-assumed, worried confidential tone.
“Poor Bill! He bled like a stuck pig. I see it out by the gate. Y’see, miss, me an’ him’s old pals. He gets in a little scrimmich las’ night, an’ a depity sheriff whangs away at him. I bin’ tryin’ to ketch up with him sence about nine this mornin’. I’m dead anxious to——”
“It’s too bad,” interrupted Dot. “Really, if I’d known that, I’d have insisted on him waiting for you.” He caught the sly derision in her voice, and his jaws set.
“I see you got his hoss in the barn. I s’pose you presented him with a fresh one an’ fixed him up so’s he could go on comf’table?”
“Why, yes! I bandaged his head for him. That was the Christian thing to do, don’t you think? And that poor horse couldn’t have lasted him into Geerusalem. But how in the world did you ever guess——”
“How far is that?”
“Geerusalem? Four miles.”