"Old Bill Turner is eighty-four, ma'am; but he don't look it, does he?"
"No. I wish I could feel sure of you. I wish I could feel sure that you are not a spy."
"Well, ma'am, it's my experience that we can't somehow help our feelings much. If you are in doubt about it, treat it as you would an earache—with silent contempt. Doubts, ma'am, are suthin' like boils; they're the devil and all while you've got 'em; but they do get well arter a while. You ain't got no call to doubt old Bill Turner, as I knows on."
"I'll talk with you again, Turner. In the meantime, see that you walk in a straight line."
"I can't do that no more. My old feet ain't so steady as they used to be. But I'll do the best I can."
"We can't ask anybody to do more than that. Now keep silent. Here comes Handsome with another man who I fear may be a spy."
Patsy, with his hair a brick-red, and with spots and freckles on his face that were a sight to see, came forward at that moment, led by Handsome.
His hands were tied together behind his back, and he looked as if he had been treated rather badly. However, there was a grin upon his face as he approached, and ducked his head in what was intended to be a polite bow to the queen of the outlaws.
"So you have come back again?" she demanded of him abruptly.
"Yes, I'm back, your honor—I mean, ma'am," he replied, grinning the more.