"I say, stranger, don't handle that weapon of yours so careless,"
said Mosely uneasily.
"I guess you're right," said Bradley, appearing to calm down. "Once
I was swingin' my gun kinder careless, and it went off and hit my
friend, Jim Saunders, in his shoulder. Might have been worse. He had
a narrer escape. But Jim couldn't complain. I jest took care of him,
night and day, till he got well. I couldn't do any more'n that, now,
could I?"
"I reckon he'd rather you hadn't shot him," said Mosely dryly.
"I reckon you're right," said Bradley, with equanimity. "Such little
accidents will happen sometimes, Mosely. Somehow, you can't always
help it."
"It's best to be keerful," observed Mosely uneasily.
"I should say so," echoed his friend, Tom Hadley.
"Right you both are!" said Bradley affably. "I say, Mosely, I like
you. You're jest such a sort of man as I am. You'd jest as lieve
shoot a man as to eat your dinner; now, wouldn't you?"
"If he'd insulted me," said Mosely hesitatingly.
"Of course. Come, now, how many men have you killed, first and
last?"
"About twenty, I should think," answered the bully, who seemed to
grow meeker and more peaceable as Bradley's apparent reckless
ferocity increased.
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