"Only twenty!" exclaimed Bradley contemptuously. "Why, that's
nothing at all!"
"How many have you killed?" asked Mosely uneasily.
"Seventy or eighty, I should say," answered Bradley carelessly. "Of
course, a man can't keep an account of all these little affairs. I
did once think I'd keep a list, but I got tired of it after a short
time, and gave it up after I'd got up to forty-seven."
"Where was you raised, stranger?" asked Mosely.
"In Kentucky-glorious old Kentuck! and if there's a man dares to say
a word against my State, I'll take his life!" and Bradley sprang to
his feet.
"Lay down again, stranger," interposed Bill Mosely hastily. "There's
no one here wants to say a word agin' Kentuck. It's a glorious old
State, as you say. Isn't it, Tom?"
"I should say so," responded Tom Hadley, using his customary
formula.
"Are you in search of gold, Mosely?" asked Bradley, in a more quiet
manner.
"We're kinder prospectin' among the hills," answered Mosely.
"You haven't come across anything yet, have you?"
"Not yet. Have you?"
"We're looking for a friend that's gone ahead. Maybe he's struck it
rich. When we find him we'll turn in and help him.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159