"Then I am not so much of a murderer after all," I replied. "I might have known that rabbits are not altogether harmless. How far do you go on this road?"
"About ten miles."
"Will you let me ride with you?"
"Yes, be glad to have you."
I put the rabbit into his grave, raked the dirt on him with my foot—hardly a Christian-like way, I admit—placed my trunk into the body of the wagon, and took a seat beside the man. And there was something about him that at once interested me. His hat was off and the breeze was stirring his grizzly hair. His nose was large and thin, and when he turned his face square upon me, I saw that his eyes were gray and clear. He wore no coat, his shirt sleeves were rolled back, and though he must have been more than fifty years old, I could see that he had enormous strength in his arms. And he was looking at me admiringly, for he said, "You must be pretty much of a man."
"I am not a child except in my lack of wisdom," I answered.
"Gad, you talk like a preacher. Which way are you going?"
"Over to Lim Jucklin's house."
He gave me another square look and remarked, "That's my name."
"You don't tell me so?"