Redfield came rather later than he had promised, excusing
himself for his delay. “I was afraid the
frost had caught my tobacco, last night; but it seems
to be all right, as far as I can see; I stayed till
the sun was well up before I decided.”
“It was a pretty sharp night, but I don’t
believe there was any frost,” the Squire said.
“At least Dylks didn’t complain of it.”
“Dylks?” Redfield returned.
“Yes. Didn’t you know he was out
again?”
“No, I didn’t. If I had that fellow
by the scruff of the neck!”
The Squire knew he meant the sleeping sentinel at
the thicket where Dylks had been hidden, and not Dylks.
But he said nothing, and again Redfield spoke.
“Look here, Squire Braile, I think you did a
bad piece of business letting that fellow go.”
“I know you do, Jim, but I expect you’ll
think different when you’ve seen him.”
“Seen him? You mean you know where he is?”
“Yes.”
“Well, all I’ve got to say is that if
I can lay hands on that fellow he won’t give
me the slip again.”
“Well, suppose we try,” the Squire said,
and he opened the door into the room where Dylks was
cowering, and remarked with a sort of casualness, as
if the fact would perhaps interest them both, “Here’s
one of the Lost, Dylks. I thought you might like
to see him. Now, sit down, both of you and let’s
talk this thing over.”
He took a place on the side of the bed and the enemies
each faltered to their chairs in mutual amaze.
“Oh, sit down, sit down!” the Squire insisted.
“You might as well take it comfortably.
Nobody’s going to kill either of you.”
“I don’t want to do anybody any harm,”
Dylks began.
“You’d better not!” Redfield said
between his set teeth; his hands had knotted themselves
into fists at his side.
“I’m all weak yet from the fever I had
there, with nothing but water and berries,”
Dylks resumed in his self-pity. “I did
think some of my friends might have come—”
“I took good care of that,” Redfield said.
“They did come, at first, with something to
eat, but they knew blame well we’d have wrung
their necks if we’d ‘a’ caught ’em.
We meant to starve you out, that’s what, and
we did it, and if it hadn’t been for that good-for-nothing
whelp sleeping over his gun you wouldn’t have
got out alive.”
“Well, that’s all right now, Jim, and
you’d better forgive and forget, both of you,”
the Squire interposed. “Dylks has reformed,
he tells me; he’s sorry for having been a god,
and he’s going to try to be a man, or as much
of a man as he can. He’s going to tell the
Little Flock so, and then he’s going to get
out of Leatherwood right off—”
Dylks cleared his throat to ask tremulously, “Did
I say that, Squire Braile?”
“Yes, you did, my friend, and what’s more
you’re going to keep your word, painful as it
may be to you. I’ll let you manage it your
own way, but some way you’re going to do it;
and in the meantime I’m going to put you under
the protection of Jim Redfield, here—”
