Part 18 (1/2)
”For that I must have two knives.”
”Got but one.”
Jeff frowned. The jack-in-the-box was a cheap trinket and the knife was worth four times as much. But Pete considered the jack a very valuable object and Jeff hoped to do much trading around Smithville. He did not want to be known for accepting the first thing offered and, besides, that was bad business. It took all the sport out of trading.
”Have to have something to boot,” he said firmly.
”I got this.”
From his sagging pocket Pete took a length of braided horsehide. But it had been so skillfully cured and so expertly braided that it was strong as rope and pliable as the finest cloth. It would make a wonderful bridle rein, but Jeff said hesitantly, ”I don't know what I'd use it for.”
”Fer tyin' things.”
”Well--” Jeff allowed himself to be convinced.
Pete sprung the jack again and again, fascinated by this simple thing which smacked of magic, because never before had he seen anything like it. Then, holding his jack-in-the-box as though it were eggsh.e.l.ls, he made the swift transformation from fascinated child to dangerous man.
”Stick to peddlin',” he said shortly, and took his leave.
It was at the same time a threat and a warning and Jeff knew it. For a moment he sat still, then got up and strolled quietly to the window.
Going down the path, Pete Whitney sprung the jack and his t.i.ttering giggle seemed again to be heard in the room.
7. GRANNY
Absorbed in watching Pete, Jeff was almost unaware when Dan came to stand beside him. As Pete disappeared, hidden by foliage, he turned away from the window and came face to face with Dan.
The boy's cheeks were flushed and hot anger burned in his eyes. Both fists were clenched so tightly that straining knuckles showed white.
Jeff said quietly, ”Come out of it, Dan.”
”He's a Whitney!”
”Sorry you didn't shoot him?”
”I--It's not that, Jeff. I wasn't thinking very straight when I told you I aimed to shoot all the Whitneys. It's--Why should a Whitney be in my pop's cabin?”
”He was at our door and he was hungry.”
”Well--Doggonit, Jeff! You talk sense!”
Jeff heaved an inward sigh of relief. Yesterday Dan had not only talked of killing every Whitney, but he had acted fully capable of doing it.
But yesterday he had been tired, hungry and so terribly alone. Good food and proper rest had worked a change, but they had not made him forget why he was here. Nothing would ever do that.
Dan asked, ”You think we will get him, don't you?”
”Get who?”
”Whoever killed my pop!”