The stranger turned quickly from his saddle-girth.
"What?" he said in surprise. "You don't want me here? You don't want me to camp here?"
Bill's feet scuffled awkwardly, and he looked steadily at a cactus plant. "Well, you see, mister," he said, "I'd like your company well enough, but—you see, some of these here greasers are goin' to chase me off the range to-night; and while I might like a man's company all right, I couldn't let him in for no such game when he ain't got nothin' to do with the trouble."
"Going to chase you off the range?" cried the stranger.
"Well, they said they were goin' to do it," said Bill.
"And—great heavens! will they kill you, do you think?"
"Don't know. Can't tell till afterwards. You see, they take some feller that's alone like me, and then they rush his camp when he ain't quite ready for 'em, and ginerally plug 'im with a sawed-off shot-gun load before he has a chance to git at 'em. They lay around and wait for their chance, and it comes soon enough. Of course a feller alone like me has got to let up watching some time. Maybe they ketch 'im asleep. Maybe the feller gits tired waiting, and goes out in broad day, and kills two or three just to make the whole crowd pile on him and settle the thing. I heard of a case like that once. It's awful hard on a man's mind—to git a gang after him."
"And so they're going to rush your camp to-night?" cried the stranger. "How do you know? Who told you?"
"Feller come and told me."