“How do you know I’ve got any, stranger?” queried the youth.
“No fooling, I say. Hand out your buckskin.”
“You wouldn’t rob a poor little devil like me, would you?”
“Don’t keep me waiting longer, or I’ll cut your ears off,”—and Scott drew his bowie as if to carry the threat into execution.
“Well, I only get half-wages, you know. Is your heart all gizzard?”
“Get off from that stone and shell out, or I’ll blow your brains out in a minute,” said Scott.
The boy sprung up hurriedly, and with affected reluctance thrust his hand into his pocket.
“Well, stra-an-nger,” he inquired with a peculiar drawl and quizzical expression of the eyes, “what do you take Salmon River dust at, anyhow?”
With this he drew forth an empty purse, and handing it to Scott, said,
“If you think I’ve got any more, search me.”