'Nen I said--"
"That'll be all for to-day, Alf," interrupted the questioner, his gaze
suddenly centering on something down the street. "You've told me that
six hundred times in the last twenty years. Come on, I see the boys
pitchin' horseshoes up by the blacksmith shop. I'll pitch you a game fer
the seegars."
"I cain't pay if I lose," protested Alf.
"I know it," said Anderson; "I don't expect you to."
The first day that Bonner drove over in the automobile, to transplant
Rosalie in the place across the river, found Anderson full of a new and
startling sensation. He stealthily drew the big sunburnt young man into
the stable, far from the house. Somehow, in spite of his smiles, Bonner
was looking older and more serious. There was a set, determined
expression about his mouth and eyes that struck Anderson as new.
"Say, Wick," began the marshal mysteriously, "I'm up a stump."
"What? Another?"
"No; jest the same one. I almost got track of somethin' to-day--not two
hours ago. I met a man out yander near the cross-roads that I'm sure I
seen aroun' here about the time Rosalie was left on the porch. An' the
funny part of it was, he stopped me an' ast me about her. Doggone, I
wish I'd ast him his name."
"You don't mean it!" cried Bonner, all interest. "Asked about her? Was
he a stranger?"
"I think he was. Leastwise, he said he hadn't been aroun' here fer
more'n twenty year.
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