a certain seriousness that demanded respect. As he looked closer into
his wide, round face, seamed with small-pox, he fancied he saw even in
its fatuous imbecility something of that haunting devotion he had seen
on the refined features of the wife. He said more gently,--
"But one friend like you would seem to be enough."
"I ain't what I uster be, Mr. Breeze," said the man meditatively,
"and mebbe ye don't know who I am. I'm Abe Shuckster, of Shuckster's
Ranch--one of the biggest in Petalumy. I was a rich man until a year
ago, when Jim got inter trouble. What with mortgages and interest,
payin' up Jim's friends and buying off some ez was set agin him, thar
ain't much left, and when I've settled that bill for the schooner lying
off the Heads there I reckon I'm about played out. But I've allus a
shanty at Petalumy, and mebbe when things is froze over and Jim gets
back--you'll come and see him--for you ain't seen him at his best."
"I suppose his wife and children go with him?" said Breeze.
"No! He's agin it, and wants them to come later. But that's all right,
for you see she kin go back to their own house at the Mission, now that
the Vigilants are givin' up shadderin' it. So long, Mr. Breeze! We're
startin' afore daylight. Sorry you didn't see Jim in condition."
He grasped Breeze's hand warmly and slipped out of the door softly. For
an instant Mr. Breeze felt inclined to follow him into the room and make
a kinder adieu to the pair, but the reflection that he might embarrass
the wife, who, it would seem, had purposely avoided accompanying her
husband when he entered, withheld him. And for the last few minutes he
had been doubtful if he had any right to pose as her friend. Beside the
devotion of the man who had just left him, his own scant kindness to her
children seemed ridiculous.
He went to bed, but tossed uneasily until he fancied he heard stealthy
footsteps outside his door and in the passage. Even then he thought of
getting up, dressing, and going out to bid farewell to the fugitives.
|