There was the sound of clinking coin on the counter below. The cast-iron bell on the cash-drawer rang harshly as the clerk put the money away.
“Thar, I'm even with this dirty shebang!” It was Jeff Wade's raised voice. “An' I kin act when the proper time comes. Oh, you all know what I'm talkin' about! Nobody kin hide a thing in these mountains. But you'll understand it better, ef it ever comes into yore own families. I never had but one little sister—she was all the Lord ever allowed me to have. She was married not more'n a month ago an' went off to Texas with a man who believes in 'er an' swears he will make her a good husband an' protector. But no sooner was the pore little thing gone than all this talk set in. It was writ out to her, an' she writ back to me to stop it. She admitted it was true, but wouldn't lay the blame. Folks say they know, but they won't talk. They are afeard o' the influence o' money an' power, I reckon, but it will git out. I have my suspicions, but I'm not yet dead shore; but I will be, an' what I done fer that scrap o' paper I will do fer that man, ef God don't paralyze this right arm. Ef the black-hearted devil is within the sound o' my voice at this minute, an' stays still, he's not only the thief of woman's happiness, but he's wuss than a coward. He's a sneakin' son of—”
Nelson Floyd, his face rigid, sprang up and went into Joe Peters's little bedroom, which was cut off in one corner of the store, and, opening the top drawer of an old bureau, he took out a revolver. Turning, he met in the door-way the stalwart form of Pole Baker.
“Put down that gun, Nelson! put it down!” Pole commanded. “Jeff Wade's deliberately set this trap to draw you into it, an' the minute you walk down thar it will be a public acknowledgment, an' he'll kill you 'fore you kin bat an eye.”
“No doubt,” said Nelson Floyd, “but the fellow has his rights. I could never draw a free breath if I let this pass. I owe it to the poor devil, Pole, and I'll pay. That has always been my rule. I'll pay. Stand aside!”
“I'll be damned ef I do.” Pole stood his ground firmly. “You must listen to reason. It's deliberate death.”
“Get out of the way, Pole; don't make me mad,” said Floyd. “I'm going down. I'd expect him to pay me, and I shall him.”
“Stop! You are a fool—you are a damned hotheaded simpleton, Nelson Floyd. Listen to me.” Pole caught the revolver and held on to the barrel of it while the young merchant clutched the butt. “Listen to me, I say. Are you goin' back on a helpless little woman? After you have had yore fun, an' the pore little trick gets married to a man who believes in her, an' goes away off an' is on a fair road to happiness, are you, I say, a-goin' to publicly advertise her shame, an', no doubt, bust up a contented home?”
“Great God, Pole!” exclaimed Floyd, as he sank onto the edge of Peters's bed, “do you think, if I give Wade satisfaction it will—”
“Will it? It will be in every paper from Maine to Californy. Meddlesome devils will mark the articles an' mail 'em to the gal's husband. A lot o' folks did the'r level best to bust up the match, anyway, by talkin' to him about you an' others.”