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"I meant a little later than that. This here McHale was with William the Conqueror at the Battle of the Boyne " Mr. Quilty spat at the mention of this historic event. "Bad scran till him, then!" he exclaimed. "Yez do be a high-grade liar, and ign'rant as well.
Of course, the term has misapplications; as an extreme case, I've even heard ign'rant tenderfeet who alloodes to the whole West as 'ornery. But them folks is too debased an' too darkened to demand comments." "You are very loyal to the West," I remarked. "Which I shorely oughter be," retorted the old gentleman. "The West has been some loyal to me.
"I wasn't raised to associate with luxuries like that!" he exclaimed with mingled bitterness and scorn, " a damned ign'rant cow-puncher dreamin' dreams about an angel!" he finished with a harsh laugh. For a while he sat silent, gazing down at the table. Then he got up, went over and lifted the garter from where it had fallen and replaced it in his pocket.
An expression of tenderness, followed by a look of deep humility that quickly changed into savage anger, came into his eyes as he looked first at the hat, soiled and dirty, and then at the dainty bit of elastic he held in his hand. "A swell pair of souvenirs," he said bitterly, "for an 'ign'rant, savage, stupid brute' of a cow-puncher to be packin' around!"
In the four dark corners of the room were four large beds, vaguely seen, and from one of them still came the haunting monotony of the banjo. Suddenly, out of the silence, rose Samson's voice, keyed to a stubborn note, as though anticipating and challenging contradiction. "Times is changin' mighty fast. A feller thet grows up plumb ign'rant ain't a-goin' ter have much show."
"Ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!" he repeated bitterly, then with a queer smile in which was a world of tenderness he pulled the pink satin elastic garter he had picked up at the circular corral, from his pocket and looked at it long and wistfully. "Good luck?" he exclaimed again questioningly. "Well, maybe that little jigger'll bring it!" and he slipped the band back in his pocket.
"An ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!" he murmured bitterly, "well, I reckon she was right Hell!" he exclaimed aloud, "I wonder if Skinny'll remember about that upper crossin' bein' dang'rous with quicksand after the rain Guess he did," he finished as the two riders turned to the right toward the lower and more distant river ford and disappeared among the willows and cottonwood trees that fringed the Cimarron.
But the mountaineer was not going to Arden just yet; first he must tell Jane that henceforth she could come without fear and help him with his lessons. "Wall," the sheriff said, after another hour of walking, "if you're goin' to Flat Rock I'd better leave you heah, an' make my way to Arden. Our hunt's ended, right enough; an' Gawd have mercy on his poh, ign'rant soul!"
The towerist female is that ign'rant of what's going' on, she's pesterin' 'round all onconscious, makin' bakin'-powder biscuit at the time. I looks at her close, an' I wonders even yet what that Black Dog's thinkin' of. But I don't get much time to be disgusted over this Black Dog's taste before he comes p'intin' out from among his people.
"You ain't in no ways hampered by facts. But, anyway, we wasn't talkin' 'bout Injuns." "No, but we was goin' to," retorted Bill, "for I was about t' d'rect th' conversation in them channels when you makes them ign'rant interruptions." "Oh, go on an' talk, Bill," Jim Walker broke in. "Don't pertend that Shorty, nor th' whole United States Army, c'd stop you if you wanted t' chin."
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