"
"It does. But if ever he laid down his gun, Bussey would make hash of
him and his lady-love."
"What about her?" interrogated Marrineal. "Do you really think--" His
uplifted brows, sparse on his broad and candid forehead, consummated the
question.
For reply the factotum gave him a succinct if distorted version of the
romance in the desert.
"She dished him for Eyre," he concluded, "and now she's dishing Eyre for
him."
"Bussey's got all this?" inquired Marrineal, and upon the other's
careless "I suppose so," added, "It must grind his soul not to be able
to use it."
"Or not to get paid for suppressing it," grinned Ives.
"But does Banneker understand that it's fear of his pen, and not of
being killed, that binds Bussey?"
Ives nodded. "I've taken care to rub that in. Told him of other cases
where the old Major was threatened with all sorts of manhandling; scared
out of his wits at first, but always got over it and came back in The
Searchlight, taking his chance of being killed. The old vulture really
isn't a coward, though he's a wary bird."
"Would Banneker really kill him, do you think?"
"I wouldn't insure his life for five cents," returned the other with
conviction. "Your editor is crazy-mad over this Mrs.
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