"You use strong words, seh."
"And mean them!"
McCalmont lowered his eyes, and pawed in the dust with his foot. Just for a moment he stood scratching the dust, then he looked up.
"Onced," he said, very quiet, "I aimed at being a gentleman. I beg yo' pardon, seh."
"You are a gentleman," says Jim, "that's just the worst of it—you understand things. What on earth makes you want to insult me?"
"It seems to me, Jim, that you might understand, more than you do, that I'm aiming to be yo' friend. Yo're at war with this yere Ryan to get back Holy Crawss, or a fair equivalent, eh, for what you've lost?"
"Go on, sir."
"I'm at war, too, with the breed of swine he belongs to. Would you be satisfied if Ryan paid in cash for yo' home, yo' land, and yo' cattle? You being an outlaw now, it wouldn't be healthy to live there to any great extent. Will you take cash?"
"Or blood!"
"I have no speshul use fo' blood. I reckon I'd as soon bleed a polecat as a Ryan, if I yearned for blood. What d'you reckon you could buy with blood—sections of peace, chunks of joy? I'd take mine in cash."