"Give him something to wreck his life and he'd make a rare ranger," observed the Weasel.
"Cade was in love," explained Mount soberly; "weren't you Cade?"
The weazened little man nodded his head and looked up at me sentimentally.
"Yes," went on Mount, "Cade was in love and got married. His wife ran away somewheres—didn't she Cade?"
Again the little creature nodded, looking soberly at me for sympathy.
"And then," continued Mount, "he just hunted around till he found me, and we went to hell together—didn't we, Cade, old friend?"
Two large tears stole down the Weasel's seamy cheeks. He rubbed them off with his smoky fists, leaving smears beside his nose.
"She took our baby, too," he sniffed; "you forgot that, Jack."
"So I did, so I did," said Mount, pityingly. "Come on, friends, the sun's sliding galley west, and it's a longer road to the devil than Boston preachers tell you. Come, Shemmy, old chuck, hoist that pretty nose up on both feet! Now, Mr. Cardigan!"
We marched on heavily, bearing southwest, descending the great slope of mountain and table-land which was but a vast roof, shedding a thousand streams into the slow Ohio, now curving out below us, red as blood in the kindling coals of sunset.