ows, the Book which should have yielded him balm and
comfort lay unopened in his lap.

A step upon the gravel outside had become too familiar to startle him.
It was Mr. McGee lounging into the cabin like a gaunt shadow. It must be
admitted that the friendship of these strangely contrasted men, however
sincere and sympathetic, was not cheerful. A belief in the thorough
wickedness of humanity, kept under only through fear of extreme penalty
and punishment, material and spiritual, was not conducive to light and
amusing conversation. Their talk was mainly a gloomy chronicle of life
at the Bar, which was in itself half an indictment. To-night, Mr. McGee
spoke of the advent of Mr. Jack Hamlin, and together they deplored the
diversion of the hard-earned gains and valuable time of the Bar through
the efforts of that ingenious gentleman. "Not," added McGee cautiously,
"but what he can shoot straight enough, and I've heard tell that he
don't LIE. That mout and it moutn't be good for your brother who goes
around with him considerable, there's different ways of lookin' at
that; you understand what I mean? You follow me?" For all that, the
conversation seemed to languish this evening, partly through some
abstraction on the part of Wayne and partly some hesitation in McGee,
who appeared to have a greater fear than usual of not expressing himself
plainly. It was quite dark in the cabin when at last, detaching himself
from his usual lounging place, the door-post, he walked to the window
and leaned, more shadowy than ever, over Wayne's chair. "I want to
tell you suthin'," he said slowly, "that I don't want you to
misunderstand--you follow me? and that ain't no ways carpin' or
criticisin' nor reflectin' on YOU--you understand what I mean? Ever sens
you and me had that talk here about you and Safie, and ever sens I got
the hang of your ways and your style o' thinkin', I've been as sure
of you and her as if I'd been myself trottin' round with you and
a revolver. And I'm as sure of you now--you sabe what I mean? you
understand? You've done me and her a heap o' good; she's almost another
woman sens you took hold of her, and ef you ever want me to stand up
and 'testify,' as you call it, in church, Sandy McGee is ready. What
I'm tryin' to say to ye is this. Tho' I understand you and your work and
your ways--there's other folks ez moutn't--you follow? You understand
what I mean? And it's just that I'm coming to. Now las' night, when you
and Saf