Mother Borton tried to remember some other point.
"I don't see how it's going to keep a knife from between my ribs," I
complained.
"You keep out of the way of Tom Terrill and his hounds, and you'll be
all right, I reckon."
"Am I supposed to be the head man in this business?"
"Yes."
"Who are my men?"
"There's Wilson and Fitzhugh and Porter and Brown," and she named ten
or a dozen more.
"And what is Dicky?"
"It's a smart man as can put his finger on Dicky Nahl," said Mother
Borton spitefully.
"Nahl is his name?"
"Yes. And I've seen him hobnob with Henry Wilton, and I've seen him
thick as thieves with Tom Terrill, and which he's thickest with the
devil himself couldn't tell. I call him Slippery Dicky."
"Why did he bring me here to-night?"
"I hearn there's orders come to change the place--the boy's place, you
know. You was to tell 'em where the new one was to be, I reckon, but
Tom Terrill spoiled things. He's lightning, is Tom Terrill. But I guess
he got it all out of Dicky, though where Dicky got it the Lord only
knows."
This was all that was to be had from Mother Borton. Either she knew no
more, or she was sharp enough to hide a knowledge that might be
dangerous, even fatal, to reveal. She was willing to serve me, and I
was forced to let it pass that she knew no more.
"Well, I'd better be going then," said I at last. "It's nearly four
o'clock, and everything seems to be quiet hereabouts. I'll find my way
to my room.
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