“Jerry,” went on the rancher, “is a regular demon. He hasn’t any more heart in him than a stone, and his wits are as keen as a razor. Jerry is twice as sharp as Lige and twice as savage.”
The scout laughed.
“I thought Lige was savage enough,” he remarked, “but if Jerry is any worse, I’d like to see him, just out of curiosity.”
“Jerry’s a schemer,” pursued Perry, “and I’ve heard it said that Lige is half afraid of him.”
“Lige is a good deal of a coward. Any man who favors snake-in-the-grass methods in preference to a stand in the open, is a coward—and a knave, as well.” The scout got up from his chair. “I’m going over to the hammock, Perry,” said he, “and take a siesta.”
“When will Wild Bill be back?” asked Perry, as the scout moved off.
“Some time to-night.”
“And the baron, Nomad and Cayuse?”
“I’m not expecting them until they get here.”
The scout reached the canvas hammock, swung under a tree near the place where he and Wild Bill had had their talk earlier in the day, and stretched himself out comfortably.