“Will you take me?” I asked, breathless. “I—I won't be in your way, and I can walk—and—shoot game.”
At that he bent back his head and laughed, which made me redden with anger. Then he turned and looked at me more soberly.
“You're a queer little piece,” said he. “Why do you want to go thar?”
“I want to find Tom McChesney for Polly Ann,” I said.
He turned away his face.
“A good-for-nothing scamp,” said he.
“I have long thought so,” I said.
He laughed again. It was a laugh that made me want to join him, had I not been irritated.
“And he's a scamp, you say. And why?”
“Else he would be coming back to Polly Ann.”