“He’s generally called Happy Hawkins, Ty,” sez I.
“Who’s in charge o’ your gang?” sez he.
“Dinky Bradford,” sez I after thinkin’ a moment; “but I’m delegated to speak for him.”
“Tell ya what I’ll do,” sez Ty; “I’ll trade ya the woman for Dinky Bradford an’ the Singin’ Parson. Send those two in to me, and I’ll send her out to you.”
This was the foolest proposition ever I heard of. The woman wouldn’t ’a’ been any use to us without the Friar. “Dinky Bradford is guardin’ the mouth o’ the tunnel,” sez I; “but he wouldn’t stand for any such nonsense, nohow.”
“Is the preacher here?” asked Ty.
“Yes, I am here,” sez the Friar, steppin’ out from the offset and comin’ toward us. Olaf, who was with him, caught his arm and kept him from exposin’ himself.
“Damn you,” sez Ty, slow an’ deliberate. “I hate you worse ’n any man in this territory. You’re at the bottom of all this kick-up. You’re the one which has turned my own men again’ me; and all I ask is a chance to settle it out with you.”
“You’re mistaken if you think that I advised this method,” began the Friar; but Ty broke in, and said: “Never mind any o’ that preacher-talk. I know what’s what, and I’m all prepared to have you hide behind your religion, after havin’ started all the trouble. I’ll offer you a plan which any man would accept—but I don’t class you as a man. The fair way to settle this would be for the men who are with us to empty their guns an’ lay ’em on the floor, then you and me strip to the waist an’ fight it out with knives. They haven’t anything at stake; but I suppose you’ll be true to your callin’, and make them take all the risk.”
“I want to be true to my callin’,” sez the Friar; “and fightin’ with knives isn’t part o’ my callin’.”