human
It hasn't always been like this, has it, Fingers? he said then, leaning a bit forward and speaking with a sudden, low-voiced seriousness.
gpt
There was a time, twenty years ago, when you didn't puff after climbing a hill. Twenty years make a big difference, sometimes.
human
Yes, sometimes,
gpt
Twenty years ago you were--a fighter.
human
A fighter, he repeated.
gpt
Most men were fighters in those days of the gold rushes, weren't they, Fingers? I've heard a lot of the old stories about them in my wanderings, and some of them have made me thrill. They weren't afraid to die. And most of them were pretty white when it came to a show-down. You were one of them, Fingers. I heard the story one Winter far north. I've kept it to myself, because I've sort of had the idea that you didn't want people to know or you would have told it yourself. That's why I wanted you to come to see me, Fingers. You know the situation. It's either the noose or iron bars for me. Naturally one would seek for assistance among those who have been his friends. But I do not, with the exception of Father Layonne. Just friendship won't save me, not the sort of friendship we have today. That's why I sent for you. Don't think that I am prying into secrets that are sacred to you, Fingers. God knows I don't mean it that way. But I've got to tell you of a thing that happened a long time ago, before you can understand. You haven't forgotten--you will never forget--Ben Tatman?