“Say, you’re lookin’ fer him?” the farmer questioned harshly. Then he leant forward, his eyes lighting with sudden anger. “If I tho’t you was––”
But Scipio’s mild blue eyes, and his simple reply had a pacific effect at once.
“I’m looking for him because he’s stole my wife. And I’m goin’ on chasin’ till I find him.”
There was such mild sincerity in his visitor’s manner that it was impossible for the farmer to retain his suspicion.
“What you goin’ to do about that four hundred?” inquired Scipio later.
“He’ll get no dollars out o’ me. I ain’t got ’em,” replied Nicholls hopelessly. Then his temper rose. “But I’m just goin’ to sleep with a gun to my hand, an’ he’ll get it good an’ plenty, if he shoots the life out of me, an’ burns every stick I got, after.”
Scipio nodded sympathetically.
“I’d feel that ways,” he said. “Well, I guess I’ll be gettin’ on. My mare’ll be fed an’ rested by this. Thanks for the feed. Guess I’ll hunt around this district a piece. Maybe I’ll find––”
But suddenly the farmer awoke from the contemplation of his own troubles and eyed the diminutive figure of his guest wonderingly, as he stood up to go.
“Say,” he observed critically, “guess you must be bustin’ with grit chasin’ this feller.”