t belonged
to somebody else, and raised his eyes to his companion. "That ought
to fetch IT," said Tom, in answer to the look. "Ef it don't," replied
Johnson, doggedly, with an air of relieving himself of all further
responsibility in the matter, "it's got to, thet's all!"

If "it" referred to some change in the physiognomy of Johnson, "it" had
probably been "fetched" by the process just indicated. The head that
went under the pump was large, and clothed with bushy, uncertain-colored
hair; the face was flushed, puffy, and expressionless, the eyes injected
and full. The head that came out from under the pump was of smaller size
and different shape, the hair straight, dark, and sleek, the face
pale and hollow-cheeked, the eyes bright and restless. In the haggard,
nervous ascetic that rose from the horse-trough there was very little
trace of the Bacchus that had bowed there a moment before. Familiar
as Tom must have been with the spectacle, he could not help looking
inquiringly at the trough, as if expecting to see some traces of the
previous Johnson in its shallow depths.

A narrow strip of willow, alder, and buckeye--a mere dusty, ravelled
fringe of the green mantle that swept the high shoulders of Table
Mountain--lapped the edge of the corral. The silent pair were quick to
avail themselves of even its scant shelter from the overpowering sun.
They had not proceeded far, before Johnson, who was walking quite
rapidly in advance, suddenly brought himself up, and turned to his
companion with an interrogative "Eh?"

"I didn't speak," said Tommy, quietly.

"Who said you spoke?" said Johnson, with a quick look of cunning. "In
course you didn't speak, and I didn't speak, neither. Nobody spoke. Wot
makes you think you spoke?" he continued, peering curiously into Tommy's
eyes.

The smile which habitually shone there quickly vanished as the boy
stepped quietly to his companion's side, and took his arm without a
word.

"In course you didn't speak, Tommy," said Johnson, deprecatingly. "You
ain't a boy to go for to play an ole soaker like me. That's wot I like
you for. Thet's wot I seed in you from the first. I sez, 'Thet 'ere boy
ain't goin' to play you, Johnson! You can go your whole pile on him,
when you can't trust even a bar-keep.' Thet's wot I said. Eh?"

This time Tommy prudently took no notice of the interrogation, and
Johnson went on: "Ef I was to ask you another question, you wouldn't go
to play me neither,--would yo