"Not now," Jim said, with the old hope again rising to encourage him, that later he might be able to help Bill. "In my life I've had one friend and only one." He laid his hands on Bill's shoulders and looked straight in his eyes.
But Bill could not stand the strain of it any longer. "You make me tired," he gulped, and Jim smiled.
"Why did you pay those cayotes three or four times what you owe 'em?" Bill scolded, gruffly, but kindly. "It's wicked, Jim. You're a sentimental fool."
As though bestowing a final benediction, Jim answered, "And you're another—God bless you," and then dropped on to the log and seemed to forget Bill and all about him.
Bill stood a moment, then tiptoed away while Jim sat watching the afternoon shadows beginning to creep up towards the hut.
CHAPTER XX
Towards noon the next day, Bud sought Jim to ask further hospitality. The horses were still in bad condition, he explained, and he would esteem it an invaluable service if he would allow them to remain another night on the ranch. Jim readily acquiesced. Now that he had taken the final step to sever himself from the ranch, there were many details to be personally directed and settled. Bill and he were often in conference, and the sale could be accomplished within a few days. While Bill worked, he watched Bud and Clarke. Of his suspicion that they were trying to take some unfair advantage, he did not speak. Only his ferret-like glances constantly followed them. And his instinctive distrust was further aroused by a visit from Tabywana.
As he and Jim sat before the house, with a list that Jim was explaining to Bill, Baco, the half-breed who worked about the place, suddenly called in greeting to Tabywana. With his bonnet of gorgeous feathers trailing down his back, his body draped in a blanket, and in his hand the peace-pipe, the Chief entered. "How!" he answered, as he passed Baco. Both Bill and Jim arose.
"Why, hello Chief! Where'd you blow in from?" Bill called.
Again Tabywana answered, "How!"