_I have to tell you that it has just occurred to me that you
have been paying all the bills, and I've been paying none. That
has to stop, and the only way for me to stop it is to go off
all by myself. I hate to sneak away, but if I stay to say
good-bye I know you'll argue me out of it because I'm no good
at an argument. Good-bye and good luck, and remember that I'm
not forgetting anything that has happened; that when I have
enough money to pay you back I'm coming to find you if I have
to travel all the way around the world._
_Your pardner,
BULL_
That done, he paused a moment, tempted to tear up the little slip. But
the original impulse prevailed. He put the paper on the table, picked
up his hat, and stole slowly from the room.
CHAPTER 13
He went out the back door of the hotel so that few people might mark
his leaving, and cut for the woods. Once in them, he changed his
direction to the east, heading for the lower, rolling hills in that
direction. He turned back when the lights of the town had drawn into
one small, glimmering ray. Then this, too, went out, and with it the
pain of leaving Pete Reeve became acute. He felt lost and alone, that
keen mind had guided him so long. As he stalked along with the great
swinging strides through the darkness, the holster rubbed on his thigh
and he remembered Pete. Truly he had come into the hands of Pete Reeve
a child, and he was leaving him as a man.
The dawn found him forty miles away and still swinging strongly down
the winding road. It was better country now. The desert sand had
disappeared, and here the soil supported a good growth of grass that
would fatten the cattle. It was a cheerful country in more ways than
the greenness of the grass, however. There were no high mountains, but
a continual smooth rolling of hills, so that the landscape varied with
every half-mile he traveled. And every now and then he had to jump a
runlet of water that murmured across his trail.
A pleasant country, a clear sky, and a cool wind touching at his face.
The contentment of Bull Hunter increased with every step he took. He
had diminished the sharpness of his hunger by taking up a few links of
his belt, but he was glad when he saw smoke twisting over a hill and
came, on the other side, in view of a crossroads village. He fingered
the few pieces of silver in his pocket. That would be enough for
breakfast, at least.
It was enough; barely that and no more, for the long walk had made him
ravenous, and the keenness of his spirits served to put a razor edge
on an appetite which was already sharp. He began eating before the
regular breakfast at the little hotel was ready. He ate while the
other men were present. He was still eating when they left.
"How much?" he said when he was done.
His host scratched his head.
"I figure three times a regular meal ought to be about it," he said.
"Even then it don't cover everything; but matter of fact, I'm ashamed
to charge any more."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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