Old Judd spoke again.
“To give you a job, if you wasn't too durned lazy to work.”
“Yes,” said the other man, who was dark, swarthy and whose black eyebrows met across the bridge of his nose—“and that damned Hale, who's a-tearin' up Hellfire here in the cove.” The old man lifted his eyes. Young Dave's face wore a sudden malignant sympathy which made June clench her hands a little more tightly.
“What about him? You must have been over to the Gap lately—like Dave thar—did you git board in the calaboose?” It was a random thrust, but it was accurate and it went home, and there was silence for a while. Presently old Judd went on:
“Taxes hain't goin' to be raised, and if they are, folks will be better able to pay 'em. Them police-fellers at the Gap don't bother nobody if he behaves himself. This war will start when it does start, an' as for Hale, he's as square an' clever a feller as I've ever seed. His word is just as good as his bond. I'm a-goin' to sell him this land. It'll be his'n, an' he can do what he wants to with it. I'm his friend, and I'm goin' to stay his friend as long as he goes on as he's goin' now, an' I'm not goin' to see him bothered as long as he tends to his own business.”
The words fell slowly and the weight of them rested heavily on all except on June. Her fingers loosened and she smiled.
The Red Fox rose, shaking his head.
“All right, Judd Tolliver,” he said warningly.
“Come in and git something to eat, Red.”
“No,” he said, “I'll be gittin' along”—and he went, still shaking his head.