'
"'Whatever did you-alls do with this frightened stranger?' asks
Enright.
"'Which we never does nothin',' says Jack. 'The last I beholds, he's
flyin' up the valley, hittin' nothin' but the high places. An'
assoomin' his project is to get away, he's succeedin' admirable. As
he vanishes, I should jedge from his motions he's reloadin' his gun;
an' from the luck he has with Jaybird, Tutt an' me is led to believe
thar's no real object in followin' him no further. I don't press my
s'ciety on no gent; shorely not on some locoed tenderfoot that a-way
who's pulled his gun an' is done blazin' away erratic, without
purpose or aim.'
"'Don't you an' Tutt know where he is at?' demands Enright.
"'Which we shorely don't,' says Jack. 'If his hoss holds, an' he
don't swerve none from the direction he's p'inting out in when he
fades from view, he's goin' to be over in the San Simon country by
to-morrow mornin' when we eats our grub; an' that's half way to the
Borax desert. If you yearns for my impressions,' concloods Jack,
'drawn from a-seein' of him depart, I'm free to say I don't reckon
you-alls is goin' to meet this yere tenderfoot none soon.'
"An' that's about the size of it.
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