"Your tongue has lost none of its cunning, I see, anyhow Uncle Tobe," laughed the maiden, not unpleased.
"It's a lookin' glass, so fur's you're consarned, gal. But ef you will, I'm dretful hungry—hain't hed a bite fur 'most two weeks, 'cept at odd spells. Ef you've got any thin' in the grub line thet is in danger o' bein' sp'iled, jest please trot it out, while I talk with Ed, hyar."
In obedience to a nod from Castor, Wilson led the way to a little distance and then briefly detailed the purport of Dusky Dick's visit. Then he anxiously awaited the comments of his visitor.
"The dirty whelp! You'd orter 'a' shot him like a polecat! He merry—oh! git out! Makes me mad—durned ef it don't, now! Jest to think. Oh won't I—thet's all; ef ever I git mud-hooks on the pesky critter? But wait a bit. He told you the truth, Ed; yas, he did, so fur's the reds risin' is consarned. They're goin' to do it—ef i'deed they hain't begun a'ready. They're jest goin' to chaw up the hull kentry afore they stop. Thar's goin' to be jest a lettle the liveliest time you ever see'd, 'fore its eended."
"Do you think so?"
"I know so—fer shure. An' you're in a bad place hyar—a pesky mean place, Ed," impressively added Castor.
"What do you advise?"
"Jest this. Take your fambly an' pack up. Git out o' hyar like 'twas ha'nted. Pull up stakes an' travel."
"And leave the farm—lose my two years of hard work?"
"Better thet, then lose your skelps an' it with the rest. An' thet's jest what you'll do ef you stay. I tell you, Ed, it's a ser'ous bizness, this is. Dusky Dick told you the truth o' the plans o' the imps. An' then you've sot him ag'inst you, too. He's got Injun blood in him. A pity it happined jest now, though I don't blame you, not a bit, but you'd orter never 'a' let him git away. He'll bring the imps down on ye, shore. He's a big dog 'th a brass collar 'mongst some o' them—the wust o' the lot, ef thet kin be, whar all is so bad. He's the one you must look out fer, the most."