“A woman’s tongue was made fer talkin’,” she snapped. “I don’t shet up until I want to. And I ain’t goin’ to want to until I know if you ain’t a deceiver.”
Nomad grinned while Pizen Kate was thus expressing herself; but it was observable, at the same time, that he paid close attention to Latimer’s comments, and seemed disappointed when nothing came of Pizen Kate’s tongue-wagging.
Buffalo Bill also listened closely; for he, too, had the feeling that John Latimer was not all he professed to be.
There was a good deal of timbered land along the base of the hills, extending well out upon the mesa where Latimer had his home. In the open, treeless mesa there was danger of being seen by the pursuing redskins, and for that reason Buffalo Bill called another halt.
It seemed advisable that a thorough look about the country should be taken, and for this purpose both Buffalo Bill and Nick Nomad separated from the others and set forth, going in different directions. Thus Pizen Kate and John Latimer were left behind.
Hardly were Nomad and Buffalo Bill out of sight when Latimer rose from the ground where he had been resting, and strode about, looking hither and thither in a restless manner. Pizen Kate had her keen and snappy eyes on him.
“I’ve allers heerd,” she declared, “that when men’s consciences is hurtin’ ’em bad they git fidgety, same’s you aire now. And I’ve allers heerd, likewise, that confession is good fer a hurtin’ conscience. So, if you’ve anything that’s settin’ too hard on yer mind, why don’t ye tell me about it, and mebbe I kin help ye some. I allers git the confidences of everybody in the community where I’ve lived these twenty years back, and I reckon that ought to prove that in comfortin’ I ain’t no slow coach.”
It was a queer speech, and it had no effect on John Latimer, except to irritate him.
“Woman, hold your tongue!” he commanded.
“Well, not at your orderin’!” she snapped. “I’ve been watchin’ ye, and somethin’s troublin’ you, er I ain’t a jedge. Now, what is it?”