“Known your friend long?” whispered Scipio to me.
“Fairly,” I answered.
Scipio's bleached eyes brightened with admiration as he considered the Southerner's back. “Well,” he stated judicially, “start awful early when yu' go to fool with him, or he'll make you feel unpunctual.”
“I expaict I've had them almost all of three thousand miles,” said the Virginian, tilting his head toward the noise in the caboose. “And I've strove to deliver them back as I received them. The whole lot. And I would have. But he has spoiled my hopes.” The deputy foreman looked again at Dakota. “It's a disappointment,” he added. “You may know what I mean.”
I had known a little, but not to the very deep, of the man's pride and purpose in this trust. Scipio gave him sympathy. “There must be quite a balance of 'em left with yu' yet,” said Scipio, cheeringly.
“I had the boys plumb contented,” pursued the deputy foreman, hurt into open talk of himself. “Away along as far as Saynt Paul I had them reconciled to my authority. Then this news about gold had to strike us.”
“And they're a-dreamin' nuggets and Parisian bowleyvards,” suggested Scipio.
The Virginian smiled gratefully at him.
“Fortune is shinin' bright and blindin' to their delicate young eyes,” he said, regaining his usual self.
We all listened a moment to the rejoicings within.