The two men outside have stopped by the stem of a large cottonwood, and are but continuing a dialogue commenced by the kitchen fire, that had been kindled but for the cooking of the evening meal, now eaten. It is still warm autumn weather, and the bears have not begun to hybernate.
“I tell ye, Dick,” says the old hunter, whose turn it is to speak, “for you to talk o’ revenge an’ that sort o’ thing air the darndest kind o’ nonsense. Take it afore the coort ideed! What good ’ud thet do ye? They’d be the coort, an’ the jedges; that is, thar fathers wud, an’ ye’d stan’ as much chance o’ gettin’ jestice out o’ ’em as ye wud o’ lightin’ yur pipe at one o’ them thar fire-bugs. They’ve got the money an’ the inflooence, an’ thar’s no law in these parts, ’ithout one or the t’other.”
“I know it—I know it,” says Tarleton, with bitter emphasis.
“I reckin ye’ve reezun to know it, Dick, now you haven’t the money to spare for sech purposes, an’, therefore, on thet score ’ud stan’ no chance. Besides thar’s the old charge agin ye, and ye dasent appear to parsecute. It’s the same men ye see, or the sons o’ the same—”
“Curse them! The very same. Buck, Brandon, Randall—every one of them. Oh, God! There is destiny in it! ’Twas their fathers who ruined me, blighted my whole life, and now the sons to have done this. Strange—fearfully strange!”
“Wal, it air kewrious, I admit, an’ do look as ef the devvil hed a hand in’t. But he’s playin’ agen ye, Dick, yet, an’ he’d beat ye sure, ef ye try to fout agin him. Take the device I’ve gin ye, an’ git out o’ his and thar way as fur’s ye kin. Kaliforny’s a good way off. Go thar as ye intended. Git rich if ye kin, an’ ye think ye hev a chance. Do that, and then kum back hyar ef ye like. When yur pockets are well filled wi’ them thar shinin’ pebbles, ye kin command the law as ye like, and hev as much o’ it as ye’ve a mind to.”
“I shall have it for my own wrongs, or for his.”
“Wal, I reck’n you hev reezun both ways. They used you durn’d ill. Thar’s no doubt o’ that. Still, Dick, ye must acknowledge that appearances war dreadfully agin’ ye.”
“Against me—perdition! From the way you say that, Jerry Rook, I might fancy that you too believed it. If I thought you did—”
“But I didn’t, an’ don’t, ne’er a bit o’ it, Dick. I know you war innercent o’ thet.