I knew enough
already to make out that I had come upon the scene of a gigantic lumber
steal. Buell's strange manner on the train, at the station, and his
eagerness to hurry me out of Holston now needed no more explanation. I
began to think the worst of him.
"Did you see a Mexican come into camp?" I inquired of the Negro.
"Sure. Greaser got here this mornin'."
"He tried to rob me in Holston."
"'Tain't nothin' new fer Greaser. He's a thief, but I never heerd of him
holdin' anybody up. No nerve 'cept to knife a feller in the back."
"What'll I do if I meet him here?"
"Slam him one! You're a strappin' big lad. Slam him one, an' flash your gun
on him. Greaser's a coward. I seen a young feller he'd cheated make him
crawl. Anyway, it'll be all day with him when Dick finds out he tried to
rob you. An' say, stranger, if a feller stays sober, this camp's safe
enough in daytime, but at night, drunk or sober, it's a tough place."
Before I had finished eating a shrill whistle from the sawmill called the
hands to work; soon it was followed by the rumble of machinery and the
sharp singing of a saw.
I set out to see the lumber-camp, and although I stepped forth boldly, the
truth was that with all my love for the Wild West I would have liked to be
at home. But here I was, and I determined not to show the white feather.
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