There is one left.
He must not escape me. No, no; he must die!'
"An' then he would sheath his knife, an' roll himself up in his
blanket, an' cry himself to sleep like a child.
"I had been with ole Bill a'most ten years--ever since I was a
boy--but he had never told me the cause of his trouble. I didn't dare
to ask him, for the ole man had curious ways sometimes, an' I knowed
he wouldn't think it kind of me to go pryin' into his affairs, an' I
knowed, too, that some day he would tell me all about it.
"One night--we had been followin' up a bar all day--we camped on the
side of a high mountain. It was very cold. The wind howled through the
branches of the trees above our heads, makin' us pull our blankets
closer about us an' draw as nigh to the fire as possible.
"Ole Bill sat, as usual, leanin' his head on his hands, an' lookin'
steadily into the fire. Neither of us had spoken for more than an
hour. At len'th the ole man raised his head, an' broke the silence by
sayin',
"'Dick, you have allers been a good friend to me, an' have stuck by
me like a brother, through thick an' thin, an', I s'pose, you think it
is mighty unkind in me to keep any thing from you; an' so it is.
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