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"You don' know nuthin'," she tilted her chin with a grand air of scorn. "You never did know nuthin', an' it hu'ts me mos' persumptuously to say dat you ain' never gwine know nuthin'!" "Don' make no diff'ence ef I knows nuthin', or not; I knows sumfin, jest de same!" he retorted. "Don' strain yohse'f dat a-way, li'l man," she sneered.
"Hello yohse'f," Tusk emerged. "Hold up a minute!" "Well?" Brent asked. There was a pause, and Brent asked again: "Well?" "Tom says as how you kin git that hund'ed for buhnin' down my cabin!" "I'll get a monkey-wrench, my friend; you rattle," Brent chuckled. "But you get out of my way! I'm going!" Tusk regarded him in sullen silence.
"Hit ain't no use, suh," said the darky respectfully; "dey's mi'ions an' mi'ions ob gemmen jess a-settin' roun' an' waitin' foh Mistuh Keen. In dis here perfeshion, suh, de fustest gemman dat has a 'pintment is de fustest gemman dat kin see Mistuh Keen. You is a military gemman yohse'f, Cap'm Harren, an' you is aware dat precedence am de rigger."
He wiped his forehead and glared. "Then s'pose you explain somethin'! I'm ridin' through town a while back, when the telephone gal sticks her head outen the winder an' squeals: 'Git to the Cunnel's a-flyin', Jess they say Dale Dawson's done kilt Tusk Potter!" "That's all right," Dale said. "Keep yoh 'pinions to yohse'f till I ask for 'em!
He looked at her another long, breathless moment, then turned and walked out through the French window. "Good mawnin', sheriff," her tortured brain heard him say. Old Jess Mason eyed him over high cheek bones and hawk-like nose for the fraction of a second before taking his hand from beneath his coat. Then it came slowly out, empty. "Good mawnin', yohse'f!"
Ruth was lookin' at me, an' maybe that throwed me off. But, anyhow, you want me for killin' Bill Whitly nine year ago!" The sheriff's jaws dropped. "Say," he whispered, "what you tryin' to do commit suicide? or write yohse'f a invite to the pen?" "I ain't hankerin' for neither," Dale answered in a dejected voice.
"Does you mean I couldn'? Why, ain' you 'shamed of yohse'f talkin' dat a-way to ole Zack! I could a-tol' you, spry's yoh please, but it warn't good fer li'l boys jes' den." "Then tell me now!" Bip challenged. "How ole is you, honey?" came the irrelevant question. "I'll be seven next time," he answered. "Seven nex' time!"
The very consciousness alone of this power was oppressive. He could crush this other man with a blow. "A soft answer turneth away wrath," a quiet voice whispered down to her, and continued: "Let the gal out; she wants ter go home!" "If you're some kind of a preacher," Tusk snarled at him, having also noticed the Biblical character of speech, "git out yohse'f.
I'se gwine to shave you ever' mawnin' now, till you ketches on for yohse'f!" The Colonel's smile was immeasurably pleasing to his new guest, and when the old gentleman playfully spoke of fine clothes Dale responded like a happy boy. "Ain't they fine!" he looked admiringly down at himself. "I reckon I hain't never had on decent clothes before in all my life!
'Foh you answers, jes' keep in mind dat dis heah keg of dynermite I'se ridin' ain' got no shoes on, an' dese heah ropes is mighty rotten; an', ef we goes our best, de mule ain' gwine be de onlies' one dat'll need a hawse-doctor! I ain' got no nickel, no-way!" Timmie was shaking with mirth. "I wish you'd git yohse'f kilt," she affectionately laughed at him.
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