"I've gin you good reezuns for goin', an' if you don't take my device,
Dick, you'll do a durned foolish thing. Cut for Kaliforny, an' get
gold--gold fust, an' let the revenge kum arter."
"No," answers Tarleton, with an emphasis telling of fixed determination.
"The reverse, Jerry Rook, the reverse. For me, the revenge first, and
then California! I'm determined to have satisfaction; and, if the law
won't give it--"
"It won't, Dick, it won't."
"Then, this will."
There is just light enough from the fire-flies to show Jerry Rook the
white ivory handle of a large knife, of the sort quaintly called
Arkansas tooth-pick, held up for a moment in Tarleton's hand.
But there is not enough to show Tarleton the dark cloud of
disappointment passing over the face of the old hunter, as he perceives
by that exhibition that his counsel had been spoken to no purpose.
"And now," said the guest, straightening himself up as if about to make
his departure, "I've business that takes me to Helena. I expect to meet
that fellow I've been telling you of who gave me the gold. He's to come
there by an up-river boat, and should be there now. As you know, I've
to do my travelling between two days. You may expect me back before
sunrise. I hope you won't be disturbed by my early coming?"
"Come an' go when you like, Dick. Thar ain't much saramony 'beout my
shanty. All hours air the same to me."
Tarleton buttons up his coat, in the breast of which is concealed the
before-mentioned tooth-pick, and, without saying another word, strikes
off for the road leading towards the river and the town of Helena. It
is but little better than a bridle trace; and he is soon lost to sight
under the shadows of its overhanging trees.
Jerry Rook keeps his place, standing close to the trunk of the
cottonwood. When his guest has gone beyond reach of hearing, an
exclamation escapes through his half-shut teeth, expressive of bitter
chagrin.