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Said the Colonel to himself, "This phantom lies like an expert.
Purifying this kind by fire don't work. I'll sound him a little further,
give him another chance or two to work his gift." Then aloud--with deep
irony--
"Visiting our great country for recreation and amusement, no doubt.
I suppose you find that traveling in the majestic expanses of our Far
West is--"
"I haven't been West, and haven't been devoting myself to amusement with
any sort of exclusiveness, I assure you. In fact, to merely live, an
artist has got to work, not play."
"Artist!" said Hawkins to himself, thinking of the rifled bank; "that is
a name for it!"
"Are you an artist?" asked the colonel; and added to himself, "now I'm
going to catch him."
"In a humble way, yes."
"What line?" pursued the sly veteran.
"Oils."
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