That's the kind of man I
be. If a man don't treat me right, I shoot him in his tracks. One
day I was drinkin' in a saloon among the foothills, when I saw a man
winkin' at me. I waited to see if he would do it again. When he did,
I hauled out my revolver and shot him dead."
"You did?" exclaimed Mosely uneasily.
"Of course I did; but I was rather sorry afterward when I heard that
his eyelids were weak and he couldn't help it."
"Did you get into any trouble about it, stranger?" asked Mosely,
with a shade of anxiety.
"No; none of the party dared touch me. Besides, I did the handsome
thing. I had the man buried, and put a stone over him. I couldn't do
any more, could I?"
"No," said Mosely dubiously, and he drew a little farther away from
Bradley.
"What do you find to eat?" he inquired, after a pause. "Tom and I
are as hungry as if we hadn't eaten anything for a week. You haven't
got any provisions left over?"
"No; but you can have as good a supper as we had, and we had a good
one. What do you say to trout, now?"
Bill Mosely smacked his lips.
"Jest show me where I'll find some," he said.
Bradley pointed to the brook from which he had drawn his supply.
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