“Tell me erbout et,” returned the old trapper, climbing into his saddle and hooking one knee about the horn.
“This is th’ way av ut,” went on Golightly, ramming some tobacco into the bowl of a short clay pipe and scratchin’ a match on the sole of his boot. “McGowan is expectin’ av his girrul from ’Frisco th’ marnin’, an’ it was mesilf he sint t’ Phanix t’ mate her. McGowan was busy an’ couldn’t go himsilf. Oi got an early shtart wid th’ buckboard, an’ whin Oi was goin’ through here, a mon wid a mask over his face—bad cess t’ him f’r th’ blackguard he is!—rode out av th’ bushes an’ grabbed th’ two horses by th’ bits.
“Simulchuniously, an’ whoile Oi was arguin’ wid th’ mon t’ let go av th’ bits, two more wid masks rode out, wan on each soide av me, laid hold av me collar an’ tipped me aff th’ sate av th’ buckboard. They had guns, d’ye moind, an’ sorry a thing had Oi but me two fists. What could Oi do? I ask yez that. Not a thing, says you, but do as yez was bid. I did that same, an’ was poked into th’ thrap, th’ door was closed, an’ th’ blackguards wint aff wid th’ buckboard.”
“Thet was a pizen queer move, Golightly,” remarked Nomad, the humor of the situation dying out with the serious business that seemed back of it.
“Queer, is ut? Oi do be callin’ ut worse than queer. What did they want iv th’ ould man’s buckboard? An’ what did th’ ould man’s girrul do whin there was no wan t’ meet her at th’ thrain in Phanix?”
“Ther ole man’s darter’s name is Annie, ain’t et?”
“Annie McGowan—ye’ve shtruck ut. She’s been visitin’ in ’Frisco, an’ was expected home this marnin’. By th’ same token, she was expectin’ some wan from th’ moine to mate her, an’ that same was what McGowan tould me t’ do—which Oi didn’t do, account av bein’ penned up in th’ thrap f’r six mortil hours. Och, wurra, but Oi can’t ondershtand ut at all!”
Golightly had not lighted his pipe. He scratched half a dozen matches on his boot-sole, but each time he became interested in his explanation, and allowed the match to flicker out between his fingers. It was a keen expression of his state of mind.
“I knowed McGowan was expectin’ his darter from ’Frisco,” said Nomad, “an’ thet he’d sent some ’un ter meet her; but why ye’d be stopped on er peaceful journey like thet thar, an’ ther buckboard took erway from ye, is somethin’ I don’t understand. What use hev a lot er men on hossback fer a buckboard, anyways? An’ why was they masked? A feller don’t wear a mask onless he wants ter hide his identity; an’ ef he hides his identity, ye kin bet yer moccasins thar’s somethin’ onlawful up his sleeve.”