“And did you recognize him that time he came—when you played that little—joke—upon me?”
Banker turned sallow once more, as though the recollection frightened him.
“I shore did,” he assented fervently. “He plumb 291 give me a start. Thought he was a ghost, that a way, you——”
He leaned forward, grinning, his latent lunacy showing for a moment in his red eyes. Confidentially, he unburdened himself to his companions.
“This lady—you’ll see—she’s a kind o’ witch like. This here feller racks in, me thinkin’ him dead these many years, an’ I misses him clean when I tries to down him. I shore thinks he’s a ha’nt, called up by the lady. Haw, haw!”
His laughter was evil, chuckling and cunning. It was followed by cackling boasts:
“But they all dies—all but old Jim. Louisiana, he dies too, even if I misses him that a way with old Betsy that ain’t missed nary a one fer nigh twenty year.”
Under her hat brim Solange’s eyes gleamed with a fierce light as the bloodthirsty old lunatic sputtered and mouthed. But the other two grinned derisively at each other and leered at the girl.
“Talks like that all the time, miss,” said one. “Them old-timers likes to git off the Deadwood Dick stuff. Me, I’m nothin’ but a p’fessional pug and all the gun fightin’ I ever seen was in little old Chi. But I ain’t a damn’ bit afraid to say I could lick a half dozen of these here hicks that used to have a reputation in these parts. Fairy tales; that’s wot they are!”
He swigged his drink and sucked in his breath 292 with vast self-satisfaction. The other man, of a leaner, quieter, but just as villainous a type, grinned at him.