“No!”

“Then mebbe I’d better be goin’.  I know you don’t want ter talk erbout me!” His wrinkling smile said he had more to tell.

“Miss Molly,” said he at last, “I mout as well tell ye.  Sam Woodhull is on the way atter Will Banion.  He’s like enough picked out a fine bunch o’ horse thiefs ter go erlong with him.  He knows somethin’ erbout the gold—­I jest found out how.

“Ye see, some men ain’t above shinin’ up to a Injun womern even, such bein’ mebbe lonesome.  Sam Woodhull wasn’t.  He seed one o’ my fam’ly wearin’ a shiny thing on her neck.  Hit were a piece o’ gold Kit give me atter I give you mine.  He trades the womern out o’ her necklace—­fer all o’ two pesos, Mexican.  But she not talkin’ Missoury, an’ him not talkin’ Shoshone, they don’t git fur on whar the gold come from.

“She done told him she got hit from me, but he don’t say a word ter me erbout that; he’s too wise.  But she did tell him how Will Banion gits some mules an’ packs o’ me.  From then, plain guessin’, he allows ter watch Banion.

“My womern keeps sayin’—­not meanin’ no harm—­thet thar’s plenty more necklaces in Cal’for; because she’s heard me an’ Banion say that word, ‘Californy.’

“Slim guessin’ hit were, Miss Molly, but enough fer a man keen as Sam, that’s not pertickler, neither.  His plan was ter watch whar the packs went.  He knowed ef Banion went ter Oregon he’d not use packs.

“Huh!  Fine time he’ll have, follerin’ that boy an’ them mules with wagons!  I’m easier when I think o’ that.  Because, Miss Molly, ef them two does meet away from friends o’ both, thar’s goin’ to be trouble, an’ trouble only o’ one kind.”

Again Molly Wingate nodded, pale and silent.

“Well, a man has ter take keer o’ his own self,” went on Bridger.  “But that ain’t all ner most what brung me here.”

“What was it then?” demanded Molly.  “A long ride!”

“Yeh.  Eight hunderd mile out an’ back, ef I see ye across the Snake, like I allow I’d better do.  I’m doin’ hit fer you, Miss Molly.  I’m ol’ an’ ye’re young; I’m a wild man an’ ye’re one o’ God’s wimern.  But I had sisters oncet—­white they was, like you.  So the eight hunderd mile is light.  But thet ain’t why I come, neither, or all why, yit.”

“What is it then you want to tell me?  Is it about—­him?”

Bridger nodded.  “Yes.  The only trouble is, I don’t know what it is.”

“Now you’re foolish!”

“Shore I am!  Ef I had a few drinks o’ good likker mebbe I’d be foolisher—­er wiser.  Leastways, I’d be more like I was when I plumb forgot what ‘twas Kit Carson said to me when we was spreein’ at Laramie.  He had somethin’ ter do, somethin’ he was goin’ ter do, somethin’ I was ter do fer him, er mebee-so, next season, atter he got East an’ got things done he was goin’ ter do.  Ye see, Kit’s in the Army.”

“Was it about—­him?”

“That’s what I kain’t tell.  I jest sorntered over here a few hunderd mile ter ask ye what ye s’pose it is that I’ve plumb fergot, me not havin’ the same kind o’ likker right now.