Ten minutes later he was in Wild Bill’s hut down at the camp, and had finished his account of his adventures.
“Say,” he finished up peevishly, “ther’s things a feller can do, an’ things he sure can’t. I tell you right here I ain’t learned how to cluck to my chicks, an’ I ain’t never scratched a worm in my life. I ’low I’m too old to git busy that ways now. If you’re goin’ to raise them kids fer Zip while he’s away, it’ll need a committee o’ us fellers. It’s more’n one feller’s job––much more. It needs a wummin.”
Bill listened patiently until his deputy had aired his final grievance. His fierce eyes had in them a peculiar twinkle that was quite lost on Sunny in his present mood. However, when the injured man had finished his tale of woe the gambler stretched his long legs out, and lolled back in his chair with a fresh chew of tobacco in his mouth.
“You ain’t done too bad,” he said judicially. “That m’lasses racket was a heap smart. Though––say, you’ll get around ther’ come sun-up to-morrer, an’ you’ll fix ’em right all day. Maybe Zip’ll be back later. Anyways, you’ll fix ’em.”
“Not on your life––” began Sunny, in fierce rebellion. But Bill cut him short.
“You’ll do it, Sunny,” he cried, “an’ don’t you make no mistake.”
The man’s manner was irresistibly threatening, and Sunny was beaten back into moody silence. But if looks could have killed, Bill’s chances of life were small indeed.
“Guess you’re off duty now,” the gambler went on icily. “You’re off duty till––sun-up. You’re free to get drunk, or––what in hell you like.”
Sunny rose from his seat. His rebellious eyes were fiercely alight as he regarded his master.