"Well, I'm glad he's gone," said Lan, savagely, though he knew quite
well that he was already scourged with repentance. He began to set his
shanty in order. He went to the storehouse and gathered the remnants
of the provisions. After all, there was a good deal left. He walked
past the box where Jack used to sleep. How silent it was! He noted the
place where Jack used to scratch the door to get into the cabin, and
started at the thought that he should hear it no more, and told
himself, with many cuss-words, that he was "mighty glad of it." He
pottered about, doing--doing--oh, anything, for an hour or more; then
suddenly he leaped on his pony and raced madly down the trail on the
track of the stranger. He put the pony hard to it, and in two hours he
overtook the train at the crossing of the river.
"Say, pard, I done wrong. I didn't orter sell them little B'ars,
leastwise not Jacky. I--I--wall, now, I want to call it off. Here's
yer yellow."
"I'm satisfied with my end of it," said the stranger, coldly.
"Well, I ain't," said Lan, with warmth, "an' I want it off."
"Ye're wastin' time if that's what ye come for," was the reply.
"We'll see about that," and Lan threw the gold pieces at the rider and
walked over toward the pannier, where Jack was whining joyfully at the
sound of the familiar voice.
"Hands up," said the stranger, with the short, sharp tone of one who
had said it before, and Lan turned to find himself covered with a .
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