"You don't have to talk," he said. "I see that I'm right. And I don't
blame you, Bill, because, maybe, I've spoiled things pretty generally
for you."

At first the silence of Bill Gregg admitted that he felt the same way
about the matter, yet he finally said aloud: "I don't blame you. Maybe
you thought I was a hoss thief. But the thing is done, Ronicky, and it
won't never be undone!"

"Gregg," said Ronicky, "d'you know what you're going to do now?"

"I dunno."

"You're going to sit there and roll a cigarette and tell me the whole
yarn. You ain't through with this little chase. Not if I have to drag
you along with me. But first just figure that I'm your older brother
or something like that and get rid of the whole yarn. Got to have the
ore specimens before you can assay 'em. Besides, it'll help you a pile
to get the poison out of your system. If you feel like cussing me
hearty when the time comes go ahead and cuss, but I got to hear that
story."

"Maybe it would help," said Gregg, "but it's a fool story to tell."

"Leave that to me to say whether it's a fool story or not. You start
the talking."

Gregg shifted himself to a more comfortable position, as is the
immemorial custom of story tellers, and his glance misted a little
with the flood of recollections.