“That's what I am.”
“Have you got the money in yore pocket?” The officer was laughing, as if at a good joke.
“I have.”
“Well”—the marshal laughed again as he swung his short club round by a string that fastened it to his wrist—“well, you come with me, an' I 'll show you a man that wants thirty dollars wuss than any man I know of. I don't believe Bill Barrett has slept a wink sence this thing happened. He 'll be tickled to death to git off so easy. The town has devilled the life out of him. He don't go by whar Pole's at work—I mean, whar he ain't at work—fer Pole yells at 'im whenever he sees 'im.”
That night when Alan reached home he sent a servant over to tell Mrs. Baker that Pole was all right and that he'd be home soon. He had eaten his supper and had gone up-stairs to go to bed when he heard his name called outside. Going to a window and looking out, he recognized Pole Baker standing at the gate in the clear moonlight.
“Alan,” he said, softly, “come down heer a minute. I want to see you.”
Alan went down and joined him. For a moment Pole stood leaning against the fence, his eyes hidden by his broad-brimmed slouch hat.
“Did you want to see me, Pole?” Alan asked.
“Yes, I did,” the fellow swallowed. He made a motion as if to reach out his hand, but refrained. Then he looked straight into Alan's face.
“I couldn't go to sleep till I'd said some 'n' to you,” he began, with another gulp. “I laid down an' made a try at it, but it wasn't no go. I've got to say it. I'm heer to swear that ef God, or some 'n' else, don't show me a way to pay you back fer what you done to-day, I 'll never draw a satisfied breath. Alan Bishop, yo're a man, God damn it! a man from yore outside skin to the marrow o' yore bones, an' ef I don't find some way to prove what I think about you, I 'll jest burn up! I got into that trouble as thoughtless as I'd play a prank with my baby, an' then they all come down on me an' begun to try to drive me like a hog out'n a field with rocks an' sticks, an' the very Old Harry riz in me an' defied 'em. I reckon thar wasn't anything Bill could do but carry out the law, an' I knowed it, but I wasn't ready to admit it. Then you come along an' rendered a verdict in my favor when you needed the money you did it with. Alan, ef I don't show my appreciation, it 'll be beca'se I don't live long enough. You never axed me but one thing, an' that was to quit drinkin' whiskey. I'm goin' to make a try at it, not beca'se I think that 'll pay you back, but beca'se with a sober head I kin be a better friend to you ef the chance ever comes my way.”