He had been all animation and eagerness in the telling of the story, but had now become curiously silent and listless; so that, although she was eager with many questions about what he had said, she did not ask them, waiting to see if he would not talk again. But instead of talking, he stayed silent and presently began to fidget in his chair. At last he said, “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Prudence, your pa and I have got a little business matter to talk over—to-night. I guess we can go down here by the corral and do it.” But she arose quickly and bade him good night. “I hope I shall see you to-morrow,” she said. She bent over to kiss her father as she went in, and when she had done so, warned him that he must not sit in the night air. “Why your face is actually wet with a cold sweat. You ought to come in at once.” “After a very little, dear. Go to bed now—and always be a good girl!” “And you’ve grown so hoarse sitting here.” “In a little while,—always be a good girl!” She went in with a parting admonition: “Remember your cough—good night!” When she had gone neither man stirred for the space of a minute. The little man, huddled in his seat, had not changed his position; he still sat with his chair tilted back against the house, his chin on his breast. The other had remained standing where the girl left him, the revolver in his hand. After the minute of silence he crossed over and stood in front of the seated man. “Come,” he said, gruffly, “where do you want to go?” Chapter XXXIV. How the Avenger Bungled His Vengeance At last he stood up, slowly, unsteadily, grasping Follett by the arm for support. He spoke almost in a whisper. “Come back here first—to talk—then I’ll go with you.” He entered the house, the young man following close, suspicious, narrowly watchful. “No fooling now,—feel the end of that gun in your back?” The other made no reply. Inside the door he took a candle from the box against the wall and lighted it. “Don’t think I’m trying anything—come here.” They went on, the little bent man ahead, holding the candle well up. His room was at the far end of the long house. When they reached it, he closed the door and fixed the candle on the table in some of its own grease. Then he pointed Follett to the one stool in the little cell-like room, and threw himself face down on the bed. Follett, still standing, waited for him to speak. After a moment’s silence he grew impatient. “Come, come! What would you be saying if you were talking? I can’t wait here all night.” But the little man on the bed was still silent, nor did he stir, and after another wait Follett broke out again. “If you want to talk, _talk_, I tell you. If you don’t want to, I can say all I have to say, _quick_.” Then the other turned himself over on the bed and half sat up, leaning on his elbow.