“How about weapons?” asks Wycherley.
“I have none save what nature gave me, and in times past have been taught to depend upon them in emergencies. I reckon I shall be able to render a good account of myself when the crisis comes. How about you, Claude?”
“I’m a Western man, you know, and in my peregrinations I’ve learned to know the value of a cold deck. Trust a tramp for that. Besides, I’ve been in Texas in my time. They’ve got odd ideas down there. You can’t trust to appearances. I saw a man arrested once, the most innocent looking party imaginable, as meek as Moses, and at sight I’d swear he was an itinerant circuit rider, a 'saddlebags,’ as we call ’em; yet when they came to search him they found seven packs of cards on his person, and enough revolvers and bowie knives to fit out a whole regiment of Rangers. So you see when a fellow’s spent some time among such scenes, he naturally imbibes the same ideas.”
“But I never knew you to go armed before.”
“My dear man, that was because I had nothing to lose; in all probability my curiosities were in hock. Now that I’m a respectable member of society again, with silver jingling in my pocket, I stand a chance of being robbed. Someone may envy me this fine suit of clothes. One of my first acts was to redeem an old pet of mine—and here you are.”
With that he unbuttons his loose sack coat. As he throws it open Aleck stares. A belt encircles Wycherley’s waist, and fastened in this is a revolver. Aleck is not a man of war, but at the same time something of a sportsman, and familiar with firearms.
“Let me see it, Claude—a little old-fashioned, but a good weapon. You treasure it—why?”
“It was given to me once upon a time by a man I valued as a friend. I was hardly more than a boy at the time. That weapon has sounded the deathknell of many a man.”
“Indeed! not in your hands, I hope?”
At this Claude laughs.