“‘It makes me feel bad,’ he sayd, talkin’ th’oo a slit in the top o’ the pack. ‘It makes me feel bad, Tom, to hear you behavin’ like that. I don’t mind killin’ a good man, fer I knows he’ll git his reward in the next world. But shootin’ a felly after he’s used sech language hurts me,’ he sayd.
“With that he rubbed the nose o’ the pistol between Tom’s shoulder-blades. The pedler jest bubbled.
“‘Keep on hopin’, Tom,’ he heard the woice at his back. ‘Mebbe somethin’ll happen ’twixt now an’ to-morrow mornin’ that’ll let you free o’ your pack!’
“The sun come out hot, an’ the road was dusty. The load was heavy an’ they was a good many long hills. Time an’ agin Tom ’ud slow down. ‘Git up, ole hoss,’ he’d hear come from behind him. Then they’d be that pistol jabbin’ him. He’d make a face an’ pick up his gait. Time an’ agin he met parties ez was out huntin’ the murderer. Sometim’s he’d hurry by them; others he stopped an’ talked to, askin’ all about Si Berrybush an’ his escape, thankin’ ’em fer their adwice an’ ’lowin’ over an’ over agin he’d give his last cent jest to have the leetle man in his grasp.
“Be noon he’d covered nine mile an’ reached the foot o’ the mo’ntain.
“‘Now see here, Si,’ he sais, sais he, ‘you ain’t goin’ to kill your horse be overwork, are ye? S’posn I drop down in the road!’
“‘Nobody’s sorrier than I am fer your trouble, Tom,’ come the answer. ‘It’s really pitiful. But I’ll risk your givin’ out—I’ll risk it.’
“Then there was the pistol agin.
“At the last house in the walley Tom stopped an’ got a loaf o’ bread be special permission. The woman wanted to hev a look at his pack, but he sayd no; what he had in it wasn’t worth lookin’ at. He was carryin’ low-down, mean, mis’able stock that wasn’t fit to show to no lady. Besides—the pistol was jabbin’ him—he hed to hurry on to git over the mo’ntain be sunset. An’ on he went.
“Si begin laughin’ so hard it set the pack joltin’ up an’ down on Tom’s back an’ almost upset him.