The Man Thou Gavest | Page 2

was any needed.
Jim sat by the table cleaning a gun. Truedale was taking account of
himself. He held his long, brown hand up to the blaze; it was as steady

as that of a statue! He had walked ten miles that day and felt
exhilarated. Night brought sleep, meal time--and often in between
times--brought appetite. He had made an immense gain in health.
"How long have I been here, Jim?" he asked in a slow, calm voice.
"Come Thursday, three weeks!" When Jim was most laconic he was
often inwardly bursting with desire for conversation. After a silence
Conning spoke again:
"Say, Jim, are there any other people in this mountain range, except
you and me?"
"Ugh! just bristlin' with folks! Getting too darned thick. That's why I've
got ter get into the deep woods. I just naturally hate folks except in
small doses. Why"--here Jim put the gun down upon the table--"five
mile back, up on Lone Dome, is the Greyson's, and it ain't nine miles to
Jed Martin's place. Miss Lois Ann's is a matter o' sixteen miles; what
do you call population if them figures don't prove it?"
Something had evidently disturbed White's ideas of isolation and
independence--it would all come out later. Truedale knew his man
fairly well by that time; at least he thought he did. Again Jim took up
his gun and Con thought lazily that he must get over to his shack. He
occupied a small cabin--Dr. McPherson's property for sleeping
purposes.
"Do yo' know," Jim broke in suddenly; "yo' mind me of a burr runnin'
wild in a flock of sheep--gatherin' as yo' go. Yo' sho are a miracle! Now
old Doc McPherson was like a shadder when he headed this way--but
he took longer gatherin', owin' to age an' natural defects o' build. Your
frame was picked right close, but a kind o' flabby layer of gristle and
fat hung ter him an' wasn't a good foundation to build on."
Conning gave a delighted laugh. Once Jim White began to talk of his
own volition his discourse flowed on until hunger or weariness
overtook him. His silences had the same quality--it was the way Jim
began that mattered.

"When I first took ter handlin' yo' for ole Doc McPherson, I kinder
hated ter take my eyes off yo' fearin' yo' might slip out, but Gawd! yo'
can grapple fo' yo' self now and--I plain hanker fur the sticks."
"The sticks?" This was a new expression.
"Woods!" Jim vouchsafed (he despised the stupidity that required
interpretation of perfectly plain English), "deep woods! What with
Burke Lawson suspected of bein' nigh, an' my duty as sheriff consarnin'
him hittin' me in the face, I've studied it out that it will be a mighty
reasonable trick fur this here officer of the law to be somewhere else till
Burke settles with his friends an' foes, or takes himself off, 'fore he's
strung up or shot up."
Truedale turned his chair about and faced Jim.
"Do you know," he said, "you've mentioned more names in the last ten
minutes than you've mentioned in all the weeks I've been here? You
give me a mental cramp. Why, I thought you and I had these hills to
ourselves; instead we're threatened on every side, and yet I haven't seen
a soul on my tramps. Where do they keep themselves? What has this
Burke Lawson done, to stir the people?"
"You don't call your santers real tramps, do you? Why folks is as thick
as ticks up here, though they don't knock elbows like what they do
where you cum from. They don't holler out ter 'tract yer attention,
neither. But they're here."
"Let's hear more of Burke Lawson." Truedale gripped him from the
seething mass of humanity portrayed by White, as the one promising
most colour and interest. "Just where does Burke live?"
"Burke? Gawd! Burke don't live anywhere. He is a born floater. He
scrooges around a place and raises the devil, then he just naturally
floats off. But he nearly always comes back. Since the trap-settin' a
time back, he has been mighty scarce in these parts; but any day he may
turn up."

"The trap, eh? What about that?" With this Truedale turned about again,
for Jim, having finished his work on the gun, had placed the weapon on
its pegs on the wall and had drawn near the fire. He ran his hand
through his crisp, gray hair until it stood on end and gave him a
peculiarly bristling appearance. He was about to enjoy himself. He was
as keen for gossip as any cabin woman of the hills, but Jim was an
artist about sharing his knowledge. However, once he decided to share,
he shared royally.
"I've been kinder waitin' fur yo' to show