Don't you give me
away, Perry, and I'll have money enough for all of us soon."
"No lying?"
"It's true as preaching"
"What lay are you on?"
"I make no confidants."
"Then you'll rue it mebbe."
"I certainly should if I did. I've got the softest snap but for one
thing."
"Wal?"
"An infernal man-tracker from Gotham is out here on my lay. He may prove
troublesome."
"I've seen him--Sile Keene."
"Yes. Put him off the track, Perry, and I'll make it an object."
Then the hunter laid a gold eagle in the hand of the tramp. An avaricious
gleam filled the man's wicked eyes.
"You can count on me, brother."
"Never mind brothering me. I don't want you to trouble me again, you
understand, until--"
"Till that man-tracker goes under?"
"Exactly."
"You bet I won't."
Then Barkswell moved on his way, and the tramp disappeared in the bushes.
"Ho! So Mr. Andy don't like for me to call him brother," uttered the
tramp, gutterally. "Wonder if he's forgot that he married sister Iris. I
must look up the old girl. Mebbe she can do something for me. I'm aware
that she'd be ashamed of me in these togs but I reckin I kin sleek up a
bit with a part o' this"--clinching the gold-piece as he spoke.
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