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While she paused, the night express backed onto the side track to await the coming of the eastbound train. The cow, still in meditation, was silhouetted in the light of a harvest moon. "This 'ere," a home-bound cattleman was saying to a friend on the platform, "is nigh onto whar we dropped a cow. I swar if thar ain't that blasted cow now, what?
At the very moment of doing so, his horse gave a whinny, which was instantly responded to by a whinny from another horse, less than a hundred feet away. "That's qua'ar," muttered the scout, as he grasped his rifle. "Whar thar's a hoss in these parts, thar's generally a man, and whar thar's a man, you kin set him down as an Injun. And as this can't be Lone Wolf, I'll find out who he is."
Washburn stared blankly at him for an instant, then he said, slowly, "All right." "You'd better get it to-night," added Westerfelt. "All right, sir. I'll attend to everything." "Cool as a cucumber," laughed a man. "Next thing you know he'll give orders 'bout whar he wants to be buried, an' what to have cut on his grave-rock." The whole gang laughed at this witticism, and started on again.
The Crowner swore that poor young gal knocked Marster in the head with the handi'on; and yonder stands Marster, ready to brain that man with that handi'on hilt tight in his own right hand. Now what I wants to know is, WHAR is the 'delectible corpus' what you lieyers argufied over?" "You doting old humbug! If you decoy us on a wild goose chase I shall feel like cutting one of your ears off!"
"Not yit, but dey wos gwine to," said Peggy, "but I seed 'em, an' I tore down de road to de gate whar dey wos gittin ready to fight, an' I jes' let dat dar Mister Crof' know wot low-down white trash Miss Rob think he wos, an' den he said ef dat war so 'twant no use fur to come in, an' he turn' roun' de buggy, an' cl'ar'd out.
Of course, she never keerd a cent fer him, but I reckon to pass the time away she got to makin' eyes at him. Anyway, it driv' 'im plumb crazy. I never knowed about it till the summer was mighty nigh over, an' I wouldn't 'a' diskivered it then if I hadn't 'a' noticed that he had made powerful little headway ploughin' in the field whar he claimed to be at work. She wasn't a bad woman.
"I'm ther man thet sent word ter ther state lawyer whar Ken Thornton war a-hidin' at." "I'm right obleeged ter ye," answered Turk, noncommittally. "I reckon they've got a right strong case ergin him." Bas Rowlett lighted his pipe. "Ye knows more erbout thet then what I does," he said, shortly. "I heers he aims ter claim thet he shot in deefence of ther woman's life."
"I tell you, Mister Lincoln," replied a voice which I recognised as the one whose owner had just left me, "I have this minute given the captain the means of escape, through that loophole." "Whar!" "This one," answered the female voice. "Wal, that's easy to circumstantiate. Kum along hyur! I ain't a-gwine to let yer go till it's all fixed. De ye hear?"
"That's his business," Sally flashed back, "but I know. All I want to tell you is this. Don't you make a move till I have time to get word to him. I tell you, he's got to have his say." "I reckon we hain't a-goin' ter wait," sneered Caleb, "fer a feller thet won't let hit be known whar he's a-sojournin' at. Ef ye air so shore of him, why won't ye tell us whar he is now?"
Ee knows ivery run ov ivery one on 'em; if a hare's started furthest corner o' t' field, he can tell yer whar she'll git in by, because he's allus there, you see, miss, an' it's the only thing he's got to take his mind off like. And then he sets a snare or two an' ee gits very sharp at settin' on 'em an' ee'll go out nights for the sport of it.
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