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"I'm sure I don't know. One o' Mr. Ware's?" "I should tink not, honey; not edzackly now. Dat ar mule b'longs ter me Nimbus! D'yer h'yer dat, 'Liab?" "No! Yer don't tell me? Bless de Lord, Nimbus, yer's a fortunit man. Yer fortin's made, Nimbus.
Yer sees dat mule out dar?" he asked, pointing to a sleek bay animal which he had tied to the rack in front of the house when he rode up. "Yes, o' course I do," said the other, with very little interest in his voice. "Likely critter, ain't it?" asked Nimbus, with a peculiar tone. "Certain. Whose is it?" "Wal, now, dat's jes edzackly de question I wuz gwine ter ax of you. Whose yer spose 'tis?"
"'Twas handsomely done, major, and that scoundrel Mahng deserved all he got. But ef he's as dead as he looks, I'm fearful that kick may get you into trouble with the tribe, though he's not a Seneca by blood, nor overly popular at that." "You know him, then?" queried the major. "Not edzackly what you might call know him; but I know something of him."
Her countenance was half hidden in her faded pink sun-bonnet, which, however, did not obscure an expression responsive to that on the man's face. She did not grudge Purdee the salvation he had found; she only grudged him the prestige he had derived from its unique method. "Why can't the critter elude Satan with less n'ise?" she asked, acrimoniously. "Edzackly," her husband chimed in.
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