“I reckon they’re with the gang thet took more of a fancy to them than me.”
“Ahuh! You’re welcome here, stranger,” replied Tappan. “I’m Tappan.”
“Ha! Heard of you. I’m Jess Blade, of anywhere. An’ I’ll say, Tappan, I was an honest man till I hit the Tonto.”
His laugh was frank, for all its note of grimness. Tappan liked the man, and sensed one who would be a good friend and bad foe.
“Come an’ eat. My supplies are peterin’ out, but there’s plenty of meat.”
Blade ate, indeed, as a man starved, and did not seem to care if Tappan’s supplies were low. He did not talk. After the meal he craved a pipe and tobacco. Then he smoked in silence, in a slow realizing content. The morrow had no fears for him. The flickering ruddy light from the camp fire shone on his strong face. Tappan saw in him the drifter, the drinker, the brawler, a man with good in him, but over whom evil passion or temper dominated. Presently he smoked the pipe out, and with reluctant hand knocked out the ashes and returned it to Tappan.
“I reckon I’ve some news thet’d interest you,” he said.
“You have?” queried Tappan.
“Yes, if you’re the Tappan who tried to run off with Jake Beam’s wife.”
“Well, I’m that Tappan. But I’d like to say I didn’t know she was married.”