I will try to give it, as nearly as possible, in
his own words.
CHAPTER XIV.
Bill Lawson's Revenge.
"This Bill Larson," said Dick, knocking the ashes from his pipe, "was
_some_ in his day. I have told you about his trappin' qualities--that
there was only one man in the county that could lay over him any, an'
that was ole Bob Kelly. But Bill had some strange ways about him,
sometimes, that I could not understand, an' the way he acted a'most
made me think he was crazy. Sometimes you couldn't find a more jolly
feller than he was; an' then, again, he would settle down into one of
his gloomy spells, an' I couldn't get a word out of him. He would sit
by the camp-fire, an' first fall to musing; then he would cover his
face with his hands, an' I could see the big, scalding tears trickle
through his fingers, an' his big frame would quiver and shake like a
tree in a gale of wind; then he would pull out his long, heavy
huntin'-knife, an' I could see that he had several notches cut in the
handle. He would count these over an' over again; an' I could see a
dark scowl settle on his face, that would have made me tremble if I
had not known that I was his only sworn friend, an' he would mutter,
"'Only seven! only seven! There ought to be eight.
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