He hauls out a roll of bills, and spits on his thumb.
“How much did yuh pay, Mister Harper?”
“Seventeen-fifty,” says I, and he counts it out and hands it to me. “That squares it, I don’t want her under obligations to no other man. Sabe?”
“You think for a minute that you can buy me off?” says I. “You think my heart’s love is for sale—for seventeen-fifty? When did you get a mortgage on the lady, Mister Simpkins?”
“We’ve come to an understanding,” he states. “She accepts my protection, exclusive. Well, I must be going on. Adios.”
He moves on and I rides with him. It sort of irritates him, and he swings around in his saddle.
“Harper,” says he—that’s the first time he ever called me just Harper—“Harper, you’ve heard that old saying, ‘Three is a crowd’? Well, I don’t like crowds. Sabe?”
“The back-trail is open,” says I, “You can’t give me orders.”
“Dang you, Ike!” he wails. “Ain’t you got no finer feelings?”
“Not since I lived with you, Magpie. You’d blunt a piledriver.”