"Right."
"Well, keep a sharp look out on the road, for there's news come down that the famous Archy Dargan has broke Hamilton jail."
"And who's Archy Dargan?"
"What! don't know Archy? Why, he's the madman that's been shut up there, it's now guine on two years."
"A madman, eh?"
"Yes, and a mighty sevagerous one at that. He's the cunningest white man going. Talks like a book, and knows how to get out of a scrape,—is jest as sensible as any man for a time, but, sudden, he takes a start, like a shying horse, and before you knows where you are, his heels are in your jaw. Once he blazes out, it's knife or gun, hatchet or hickory—any thing he can lay hands on. He's killed two men already, and cut another's throat a'most to killing. He's an ugly chap to meet on the road, so look out right and left."
"What sort of man is he?"
"In looks?"
"Yes!"
"Well, I reckon, he's about your heft. He's young and tallish, with a fair skin, brown hair, and a mighty quick keen blue eye, that never looks steadily nowhere. Look sharp for him. The sheriff with his 'spose-you-come-and-take-us'—is out after him, but he's mighty cute to dodge, and had the start some twelve hours afore they missed him."