Droll farrago! but just as Jake delivered it. He had the slang and the swearing of all climes and countries at his tongue’s end.
“Hello, stranger!” said he, turning to me. “I allowed you was the Barrownight.”
“It’s my friend, Richard Wade,” said Brent.
“Yours to command, Brother Wade,” Jake says hospitably. “Ef you turn out prime, one of the out and outers, like Brother John Brent, I’ll tip ’em the wink to let you off easy at the Judgment Day, Gentile or not. I’ve booked Brother John fur Paradise; Brother Joseph’s got a white robe fur him, blow high, blow low!”
We rode along beside Shamberlain.
“What did you mean just now?” asked my friend. “You spoke of Wade’s being the baronet.”
“I allowed you wouldn’t leave him behind.”
“I don’t understand. I have not seen him since we left you in the summer. I’ve been on to California and back.”
“The Barrownight’s ben stoppin’ round in the Valley ever since. He seems to have a call to stop. Prehaps his heart is tetched, and he is goan to jine the Lord’s people. I left him down to my ranch, ten days ago, playing with a grizzly cub, what he’s trying to make a gentleman of. A pooty average gentleman it’ll make too.”
“Very odd!” says Brent to me. “Biddulph meant to start for home, at once, when we parted. He had some errand in behalf of the lady he had run away from.”