Oh,cried Willock,his sudden sense of future loss causing him to speak with unwonted irony,maybe you're just a Shem,or Ham or that other kind of Fat--What's the matter,Wilfred?Can't you let go of that letter?
I've made out the name of that widower who's paying court to my old sweetheart,he said,but it's one I never heard of before;that's why it looked so strange--it's Gledware.
Willock uttered a sharp exclamation.Let me see it.He started up abruptly,and bent over the page.
What of it?asked Bill in surprise.Willock had uttered words to which the dugout was unaccustomed.
That's what it is,Willock growled;it's Gledware!His face had grown strangely dark and forbidding,and Wilfred,who had never imagined it could be altered by such an expression,handed him the letter with a sense of uneasiness.
What of it?reiterated Bill.Suppose it IS Gledware;who is HE?Do you know such a man?Wilfred demanded.
Out with it!cried Bill,growing wrathful as the other glowered at the fire.What's come over you?Look here,Brick Willock,Lahoma is your cousin,but I claim my share in that little girl and I ask you sharp and flat--
Oh you go to--!cried Willock fiercely.All of you.
Wilfred said lightly,Red Feather has already gone there,perhaps.Eh?Willock wheeled about as if roused to fresh uneasiness.The Indian chief had glided from the room,as silent and as unobtrusive as a shadow.
Willock sank on the bench beside Bill Atkins and said harshly,Where's my pipe?
Don't you ask ME where your pipe is,snapped Bill.Yonder it is in the comer where you dropped it.
Willock picked it up,and slowly recovered himself.You see,he observed apologetically,I need Lahoma about,to keep me tame.I was wondering the other day if I could swear if I wanted to.I guess I could.And if put to it,I guess I could take up my old life and not be very awkward about it,either--I used to be a tax-collector,and of course got rubbed up against many people that didn't want to pay.That there Gledware--well!maybe it isn't this one Lahoma writes about,but the one I knew is just about middle age,and he's a widower,all right,or the next thing to it--I didn't like Gledware.That was all.I hate for Lahoma to be throwed with anybody of the name--but I guess it's all right.Lahoma ain't going to let nobody get on her off-side,when the wind's blowing.
Bill inquired anxiously,Did that Gledware you knew,live near Kansas City?
He lived over in Indian Territory,last time I heard of him.But he was a roving devil--he might be anywhere.Only--he wasn't rich;why,he didn't have nothing on earth except a little--yes,except a little.
Then he can't be the owner of a big estate,remarked Wilfred,with relief.
I don't know that.Folks goes into the Territory,and somehow they contrives to come out loaded down.But I hope to the Almighty it's a different Gledware!
Lahoma can hold her own,Bill remarked confidently.You just wait till her next letter comes,and see if she ain't flying her colors as gallant as when she sailed out of the cove.
Wilfred reflected that his invitation to remain had been sincere;there was nothing to hurry him back to the Oklahoma country--he would,at least,stay until the next letter came.His interest in Lahoma was of course vague and dreamy,founded rather on the fancies of a thousand-and-one-nights than upon the actual interview of a brief hour.But the remarkable change that had taken possession of Willock at the mention of Gledware's name,had impressed the young man profoundly.In that moment,all the geniality and kindliness of the huge fellow had vanished,and the great whiskered face had looked so wild and dangerous,the giant fists had doubled so threateningly,that long after the brow smoothed and the muscles relaxed,it was impossible to forget the ferocious picture.
That's what I'll do,Wilfred declared,settling back in his seat,I'll wait until that next letter comes.
