Jim Williams removed his pipe, and puffed a cloud of white smoke.
'Ken, I shore ain't fergot Greaser,' he drawled with his slow smile. 'Hev you any pertickler thing you want did to him?'
'Jim, don't kill him!' I burst out, impetuously, and then paused, frightened out of speech. Why I was afraid of him I did not know, he seemed so easy-going, so careless–almost sweet, like a woman; but then I had seen his face once with a look that I could never forget.
'Wal, Ken, I'll dodge Greaser if he ever crosses my trail again.'
That promise was a relief. I knew Greaser would come to a bad end, and certainly would get his just deserts; but I did not want him punished any more for what he had done to me.
Those last few hours sped like winged moments. We talked and planned a little, I divided my outfit among my friends, and then it was time for the train. That limited train had been late, so they said, every day for a week, and this day it was on time to the minute. I had no luck.
My friends bade me good-bye as if they expected to see me next day, and I said good-bye calmly. I had my part to play. My short stay with them had made me somehow different. But my coolness was deceitful. Dick helped me on the train and wrung my hand again.
'Good-bye, Ken. It's been great to have you out... . Next year you'll be back in the forests!'
He had to hurry to get off. The train started as I looked out of my window. There stood the powerful hunter, his white head bare, and he was waving his hat. Jim leaned against a railing with his sleepy, careless smile. I caught a gleam of the blue gun swinging at his hip. Dick's eyes shone warm and blue; he was shouting something. Then they all passed back out of sight. So my gaze wandered to the indistinct black line of Penetier, to the purple slopes, and up to the cold, white mountain-peaks, and Dick's voice rang in my ears like a prophecy: 'You'll be back in the forests.'
