“Glad to see you again,” said he. “How are you?”
His accent was broadly Scotch, and there was a round-bodied heartiness to him which at once inspired good will.
“I’m in right good health,” said Oliver. “And I’m glad enough to see you, Sandy.”
Sandy Campbell laughed. He placed a strap of the halter against the door frame and punctured it with the awl.
“I was mighty taken with your notion,” stated he. “And when I got done with my work, I rode over to hear more about it.”
Oliver Barclay sat down upon a rough settle which stood beneath a cottonwood; he looked at the other two boys with earnest eyes.
“What we talked over yesterday, Eph,” said he, “seemed good reason enough for us to make an attempt to get the best of the Cherokees. But what I heard this afternoon puts a different face on it altogether.”
Eph Taylor looked up from his rifle in surprise.
“You don’t mean to say that you have changed your mind!” said he.
Oliver shook his head.