'But Phylly's gone,' said Mulock in a dejected tone; 'gone—toted off by thet d——d trader. If I hadn't a ben in the cussed jug, I'd a killed him.'
'No she isn't gone; she's here—Preston's bought her.'
Mulock sprang to his feet; his dull, cold eye lighted, and seizing the young man by the arm, he exclaimed:
'Doan't ye lie ter me, Gus; is she yere?'
'Yes, so Bob says; he saw her get out of the stage.'
Mulock made no reply, but strode toward the door. Gaston said quickly:
'Hold on, Bony, don't vamoose just yet. D——d if I'll help you out of this if you don't promise to work like an honest fellow to pay me.'
'I will, Gus; I'll leave off drinkin' ter onst; I'll work day and night, I will.'
'Well, my rustic beauty, are you ready to sign a bill of sale?'
'Yas; but I reckon, bein's as ye set so high on Bony, ye kin go a trifle more'n thet; jest the 'spences down yere?'