"You was born in these yere foothills, and
raised in 'em; and you've never known enough to git out of 'em."
"Git out of 'em?"
"Git out of 'em," she repeated scornfully. "D'ye think if I was a man
I'd stop in such a God-forsaken place as yours, with nothing but
rattlesnakes and coyotes to keep me company? Go on!"
"I've wandered far--I've wandered wide--
I've dwelt in many a stately tower;
And now I turn me back to ride
To my own brown bird in her humble bower."
"That'll do," said Mintie. "You ain't improved much. Bill Shakespeare
can rest easy in his tomb. I've got my chores to do. 'Bout time you
was doin' yours."
Smoky Jack, refusing to budge, said jocosely, "Things air fixed up to
home. 'Twouldn't worry me any if I never got back till to-morrer."
Mintie frowned and went into the house. Smoky led his horse to the
barn with perplexity and distress writ large upon his face.
"Notice to quit," he muttered. Then he grinned pleasantly. "Reckon a
perfect gen'leman 'd take the hint and clear out. But I ain't a
perfect gen'leman. What in thunder ails the girl?"
* * * * *
It was nearly seven when Pap Ransom reached his corral.
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