“Not that time he missed you at Traitor’s Trap, I think,” said the other.
“Of course not—’cause we was both mounted that time, and scurryin’ over rough ground like wild-cats. The best o’ shots would miss thar an’ thus. Besides, Buck Tom took nothin’ from me, an’ ye wouldn’t have me shoot a man for missin’ me—surely. If you’re so fond o’ killin’, why didn’t you shoot him yourself?—you had a rare chance!”
Crux grinned—for his ugly mouth could not compass a smile—as he thought thus to turn the tables on his comrade.
“Well, he’s got clear off, anyhow, returned the comrade, an’ it’s a pity, for—”
He was interrupted by the Englishman raising himself and asking in a sleepy tone if there was likely to be moonlight soon.
The company seemed to think him moon-struck to ask such a question, but one of them replied that the moon was due in half an hour.
“You’ve lost a good chance, sir,” said Crux, who had a knack of making all his communications as disagreeably as possible, unless they chanced to be unavoidably agreeable, in which case he made the worst of them. “Buck Tom hisself has just bin here, an’ might have agreed to guide you to Traitor’s Trap if you’d made him a good offer.”
“Why did you not awake me?” asked the Englishman in a reproachful tone, as he sprang up, grasped his blanket hastily, threw down a piece of money on the counter, and asked if the road wasn’t straight and easy for a considerable distance.
“Straight as an arrow for ten mile,” said the landlord, as he laid down the change which the Englishman put into an apparently well-filled purse.
“I’ll guide you, stranger, for five dollars,” said Crux.