“Yeah, I s’pose you’d call it that.”
“Can you wait for me to make a pot of coffee?” asked Ma Fann.
“Everything else is cold.”
Barr drew his chair up to the table and attacked the food like a
starving man.
“Don’t make me wait for the coffee. I’d like some, y’betcha, but I can’t
wait.”
Ma Fann watched him for a moment, shook her head sadly and began
preparing a pot of coffee. Nell came in and sat down across the table
from Barr. She did not look at Bob, who had sat down, holding the
six-shooter in his lap. He had put Barr’s gun in his own holster.
“Splinter still in jail?” asked John Fann.
“Yeah.”
“Splinter?”
Barr Wyeth turned and stared at Bob.
“Did you put him in, too?”
“Nope. Andy put him in for gunnin’ a feller in a poker-game. The man
will get well.”
“Well, I’ll have company, anyway,” observed Barr.
“Barr, don’t talk like that!” Nell Wyeth’s voice was full of tears. “Oh,
why did you come here tonight? We all thought you had left the country
and was in a safe place.”
“Our friend Kern didn’t,” said Barr bitterly.
“Do you have to take him to Bunch Grass?” asked John Fann.
“Yeah, I do, John,” nodded Bob. “Why ask me that?”
“Knowing how the people feel about him,” said John, “don’t you think it
is a little dangerous? And tomorrow everybody in the country will be in
town, Bob.”
“I reckon that’ll be all right, John.”