Of course! Many nice people tell me every day. They tell me all about
him. I rather hear you tell me. Is he a Christian?"

"He's one son-of-gun, pure and simple--that old feller. He caps the
climax."

"Yes; I know all about that. He's a bad man. I hear everything about
him. Now you tell me again. You can tell better than liars."

"One genuine son-of-gun!" persisted Pete, shrewdly keeping to general
terms.

"Oh, very well!" I rose from the log I was sitting on, yawning my
indifference. "I know everything he ever did. Other people tell me all
the time."

I moved off a few steps under the watchful side glance. It worked. One
of Pete's slim, womanish hands fluttered up in a movement of arrest.

"Those liars tell you about one time he shoot white man off horse going
by?"

"Certainly!"

"That white man still have smallpox to give all Injins he travel to; so
they go 'n' vote who kill him off quick, and my b'other-in-law he win
it."

I tried to look as if this were a bit of stale gossip.

"Then whites raise hell to say Pete he do same. What you know about
that? My old b'other-in-law send word he do same--twenty, fifty Injin
witness tell he said so--and now he gon' hide far off. Dep'ty sheriff
can't find him. That son-of-gun come back next year, raise big fight
over one span mules with Injin named Walter that steal my mules out of
pasture; and Walter not get well from it--so whites say yes, old Pete
done that same killing scrape to have his mules again; plain as the nose
on the face old Pete do same. But I catch plenty Injin witness see my
b'other-in-law do same, and I think they can't catch him another time
once more, because they look in all places he ain't. I think plenty too
much trouble he make all time for me--perform something not nice and get
found out about it; and all people say, Oh, yes--that old Pete he's at
tricks again; he better get sent to Walla Walla, learn some good trade
in prison for eighteen years. That b'other-in-law cap the climax! He
know all good place to hide from dep'ty sheriff, so not be found when
badly wanted--the son-of-gun!"

Pete's face now told that, despite the proper loathing inspired by his
misdeeds, this brother-in-law compelled a certain horrid admiration for
his gift of elusiveness.

"What's your brother-in-law's name?"

Pete deliberated gravely.

"In my opinion his name Edward; mebbe Sam, mebbe Charlie; I think more
it's Albert."

"Well, what about that next time he b