Leaving our horses in
Cless's corral, we went to the hotel and proceeded to compose the letter.
This turned out more of a task than we had bargained for. But we got it
finished at last, not forgetting to put in a word for Jim Williams, and
then we both signed it.
"There!" I cried. "Dick, something will be doing round Holston before many
days."
"That's no joke, you can bet," replied Dick, wiping his face. "Ken, it's
made me sweat just to see that letter start East. Buell is a tough sort,
and he'll make trouble. Well, he wants to steer clear of Jim and me."
After that we fell silent, and walked slowly back toward Cless's corral.
Dick's lips were closed tight, and he did not look at me. Evidently he did
not intend to actually put me aboard a train, and the time for parting had
come. He watered his horses at the trough, and fussed over his pack and
fumbled with his saddle-girths. It looked to me as though he had not the
courage to say goodby.
"Ken, it didn't look so bad--so mean till now," he said. "I'm all broken
up. . . . To get you way out here! Oh! what's the use? I'm mighty sorry. .
. . Good-bye--maybe-"
He broke off suddenly, and, wringing my hand, he vaulted into the saddle.
He growled at his pack-pony, and drove him out of the corral. Then he set
off at a steady trot down the street toward the open country.
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