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"You wus cut bad, I heer, an' laid up fer a week ur so, an' then the skeer them Whitecaps give you on top of it must a' been awful to a proud sperit like yore'n; but even sech as that will wear off in time. But nothin' human, John Westerfelt nothin' human kin fetch back the dead. Sally's place is unoccupied.
"Of course she's dead," answered Slogan; "an' bein' as my hoss ain't to be had, I 'lowed I'd try to borrow one o' yore'n to go order the coffin." Slogan here displayed a piece of twine which he had wound into a coil. "I've got the exact length o' the body. I 'lowed that would be the best way. I reckon they kin tell me at the store how much play a corpse ort to have at each end.
Ef you ever want to run fer office all you got to do is to announce yorese'f. Old Hunter wus down at Bill Stone's this mornin' as we passed buyin' his fine hoss to replace yore'n." "I reckon they've run Toot Wambush clean off," put in Mrs. Bradley, looking significantly at Harriet. She expected the girl to reply, but Harriet only avoided her glance. Mrs.
"I 'lowed I'd better take a peep at that stove o' yore'n, an' see that thar ain't any danger o' fire while we are asleep," he said. "How'd you make out to-night?" "First rate." "I 'lowed you wus gittin' on well enough talked to most all the gals, I reckon." "All but one, I think that Miss Floyd."
"I wus jest passin' on my way home an' thought I'd halt an' ax about that cut o' yore'n." "Oh, I'm doing pretty well, Peter," answered Westerfelt, as he extended his hand without rising. "But I didn't know that you ever got this far from home." "Hain't once before, since I went to fight the Yanks," grinned Slogan. "Seems to me I've rid four hundred an' forty-two miles on that churndasher thar.
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