“Did it ever kill a man?” asked Billy, touching the six-shooter.
“No. It ’ain’t never had to do that, but I expect maybe it’s stopped some killin’ me.”
“Oh, leave me wear it just a minute! Do you collect arrow-heads? I think they’re bully. There’s the finest one you ever seen.” He brought out the relic, tightly wrapped in paper, several pieces. “I foun’ it myself, camping with father. It was sticking in a crack right on top of a rock, but nobody’d seen it till I came along. Ain’t it fine?”
Mr. McLean pronounced it a gem.
“Father an’ me found a lot, an’ they made mother mad lying around, an’ she throwed ’em out. She takes stuff from Kelley’s.”
“Who’s Kelley?”
“He keeps the drug-store at Laramie. Mother gets awful funny. That’s how she was when I came home. For I told Mr. Perkins he lied, an’ I ran then. An’ I knowed well enough she’d lick me when she got through her spell—an’ father can’t stop her, an’ I—ah, I was sick of it! She’s lamed me up twice beating me—an’ Perkins wanting me to say ‘God bless my mother!’ a-getting up and a-going to bed—he’s a flubdub! An’ so I cleared out. But I’d just as leaves said for God to bless father—an’ you. I’ll do it now if you say it’s any sense.”
Mr. McLean sat down in a chair. “Don’t yu’ do it now,” said he.