"Yes, Starbuck, with a three-inch slug. But that's nuther here nur thar, jest now. I'm willin' to furgit the past."
Starbuck gave him a knife-thrust glance, and replied: "When a Peters says he is, it's ten to one he ain't."
"You air still talkin' fust rate. But come to think of it, you an' me ain't been very much at outs."
"That's so, Lije. I've slept all night many a time without dreamin' of you."
"Yes. But I reckon I've been doin' a leetle mo' dreamin' than you have. Yo' daughter—"
"Only a dream so fur as you air consarned."
"Do you mean to say she won't marry me if you tell her to?"
Starbuck left the table upon which he had been sitting, and moved over closer to his visitor. "Look here: you know she can't love you, an' don't you want her because you think I've got a little money? Hah, ain't that it?" And slowly the old man went over to the fire-place, took down his pipe, filled it and stood twisting a piece of paper. "When you git right down to it, Lije, ain't that the reason—money?"
"Well," said Peters, shifting about, "if thar is money, I reckon I know how you come by some of it." He put his foot on a chair and pulled at his beard. "Yes, I reckon I know how you got a good deal of it. Starbuck, I know an old feller about yo' size an' with gray ha'r that has made a good deal o' licker when the sun wan't shinin'. And that fetches me down to the p'int. I have applied fur appointment as Deputy United States Marshal. Do you know what that means—if I git it?"
Starbuck leaned over and thrust the piece of paper into the fire, turned about with it blazing in his hand and applied it to his pipe.