"That was nothing, Bill. Just a fit of bad temper. We are on very good terms now. Who else, d'you think?"
"There's Davy Marsh. He's got a mighty sore head. I hear him talkin' pretty wicked about ye, one day."
"But he don't mean it, you may be sure. It was just his trouble made him talk like that. He and I are on a very friendly footing. He has nothing to be sore at me about."
"I guess he thinks he has, Mr. Rayton. You've cut him out—or he thinks so. But he weren't never in to be cut out."
"Oh, come now, Bill! I don't think you should talk that way about Marsh. He means well enough. Who else?"
"Well, Mr. Rayton, what about old Cap'n Wigmore? He be mighty sweet on Miss Nell Harley—an' he's an all-fired wicked-lookin' old cuss. I guess if you knowed his heart you'd find him yer enemy."
Rayton laughed. "Poor old chap! I am sorry for him. But come now, Bill, you are not serious?"
"Yep. He be soft as mush on that girl. Father, he says so, too—an' so does ma."
"But you don't think he'd shoot me, do you?"
"Guess he would—if he got a good chance. Guess he'd as lief kill a feller as eat his supper—judgin' by the looks of him. Tell you what, Mr. Rayton, if I was you I wouldn't trust that old gent no farther'n I could chuck him over my shoulder. He's got a bad eye, he has, jist like Jim Wiggins' old hoss had—an' it ended by chawin' off two of his fingers when he wasn't lookin'."