“Maje, I’m Tom Maxwell, an’ you’ve hearn tell o’ me afore now; but did you ever hear ’at I lied, or made a practyce o’ any sech a dirty, sneakin’ business? The truth is a mighty broad an plain trail, boss, to them which is clear in the sight, an’ my ol’ mother l’arnt me to squint true ’long that trail, tellin’ me—‘Now, sonny, jest foller your nose, an’ go ahead!’ An’ ever sence then, I’ve did so, on’y, mayhap, steppin’ a lettle to one side in the matter o’ a red-skin, or sech like; but I al’ays tuck it up jest whar I left it. I’ll tell you the truth ef it bu’sts me—go on!”
Calhoun appeared used to the somewhat rambling style of the old guide, and resumed:
“We were just talking about this Dusky Dick, as you call him; what is your opinion of him, Tom?”
“H-u-m! As a guide, or a man?”
“Well—both.”
“Ya—as,” drawled Maxwell, smoking rapidly. “Fust, as a guide. He’s quick an’ sharp-witted, knows a buffler-chip from a ant-hill; he is dead shore on a trail or fer sign; a bully shot, rider, an’ all that; kin tell you, or mark down like a printed map, every river, crick an’ waterhole that is atween here an’ Salt Lake. Or to sum it up, as the lawyers o’ St. Louey ’d say, he knows every feet o’ the trail, kin tell whar to ixpect Injuns, or not to ixpect ’em, ekil to anybody what lives an’ breathes.”
“You praise him up very highly, Tom,” remarked Buenos Ayres.
“Do I, then? That’s jest as folks thinks. But honest, I don’t know a single man ’at I’d ruther hev along ’th me, ’n this very Dusky Dick, pervidin’, mind ye, thet he hed some strong intrust in the train’s gittin’ through right side up, all hunky. But ef so be he hed a spite ag’inst anybody, then I’d ruther hev the devil hisself fer a chum,” he said, earnestly.
“Well, as a man,” added Major Calhoun.
“Wal, fust; he shoots off his mouth too durned much; he’d talk the ha’r off ’m a buffler bull’s hump, an’ not more’n hafe try. He’s wuss ’n old Daddy Lapyear, the preacherman which used to keep camp meetin’ nigh to whar I lived when a little shaver; an’ more’n that couldn’t be said. Look at his eyes—look at his face—look at his motion; look at him all over, well. The hull outfit sais snake, jest as plain as geese-goose; an’ the wust kind o’ sarpint, too—the ongainly, sneakin’ copperhead.