But I don' run away; I don' say to you, 'I can' stop. You go down;
you die.' I don' say that. I stop. I save you. An' now you say to me,
'Frenchy, 'oo the 'ell are you?' Yais."

Mills shrugged protestingly. The appeal was to the core of his
nature; the demand was one he could not dishonor.

"I didn't say just that," he urged. "But what are the chaps from
Macequece after you for?"

"Tha's all right," replied the Frenchman with a wave of his hand.
"You say, 'Frenchy, I don' like you. Dam' you, Frenchy!' Ver' well.
The men coom, you give me to them. They shoot me. Tha's all right;
yais!"

He replaced his pipe and commenced again to smoke with an expression
of weary indifference.

"I'm not that sort," said Mills. "I'm open to admit I didn't quite
take to you--at first. I can't say fairer than that. But tell me what
you done to rile the chaps. Did you kill a bloke, or what?"

"Jone Mills," said the Frenchman "Jone Mills shoot the Intendente at
Mandega's. Kill 'im dead. Dead as pork. They don' chase Jone Mills.
They don' wan' to shoot Jone Mills. No. Frenchy--po' ol' Frenchy--'e
shoot a man in Macequece. Shoot 'im dead. Dead as pork. Then they
all coom after 'im. Wan' to shoot 'im. An' po' ol' Frenchy, 'e stop
to pull Jone Mills out of the river. 'E save Jone Mills. Jone squeak
an' say, 'Shoot me quick befo' I choke.' But Frenchy stop an' pull
'im out. Yais. An' then they shoot Frenchy. Yais!" He blew a huge
volume of smoke and lay back serenely.

"Look 'ere, Frenchy," cried Mills, stretching his hand across the
table, "I'm in this. They won't catch you here, old son. Savvy?
There's my hand for you."

"Eh?"

"There's my hand, I'm tellin' you. Shake hands, old son. You may be a
hard case, but you did save my life, and it's up to me to see you
through. We'll be able to call quits then."

The Frenchman rose with a serious face, and the two shook hands over
the candle. The Frenchman held Mills's hand a moment longer.

"I know you," he said. "You do' know me. I trust you, Jone. I know
yo' a good man."

He sat back again, and Mills turned matters over. In that rough
community no man would own himself devoid of gratitude. "I'll do as
much for you" was the common acknowledgment of a favor. It appeared
to Mills that his new acquaintance might be a precious scoundrel, but
that point was not at present in issue, and there remained a debt to
be satisfied before he could raise it. The knowledge that Frenchy had
shot a man