The outlaw was made still more uncomfortable by these words. He had wholly misunderstood Luke at first, and the revelation of his real character had impressed him not only with respect but fear. He did not know of what this pseudo Quaker might be capable. He longed in some way to get out of his power. Force was impracticable, and he resolved to resort to finesse.
“Look here, my friend,” he began.
“So you regard me as a friend? Thank you, Brother Fox; I won’t forget it.”
“Oh, bother your nonsense! I suppose you are after the thousand dollars offered for my apprehension.”
“You have guessed right the first time. I am not a rich man, and I don’t mind telling you that a thousand dollars will be particularly acceptable just about now.”
“So I suppose. You don’t feel particularly unfriendly to me?”
“Oh, no. I might under different circumstances come to love you like a brother.”
“Or join my band?”
“Well, no; I draw the line there. As a Quaker I could not consistently join a band of robbers.”
“Who are you?” asked Fox abruptly. “You weren’t raised around here.”