“Don’t vant her,” persisted Jan. “S’pose she dead, unt I puy her? Den I lose mine goot knife all vor nottings.”
“Ef she’s dead, may she rest easy in her grave. But I don’t think she would, any way. I’ve got my opinion, an’ I think she’d never rest in any grave. They won’t hev her in the other world nuther. She’d worrit them to death, mind ye.”
“Vy don’t you dells me vat pe her name, Penn?” said Jan.
“Hill-a-leah, the Green Snake. Lovely name, ain’t it?”
“Goot cracious. Dat ain’t a vooman’s name?”
“Ain’t it? Prehaps yer right. I doubt ef she’s a woman myself. Anyhow, I’ve got my opinion and I reckon she’s got a devil in her. I hearn a preacher down to the fort tell of a woman thet hed seven devils in her, an’ thet the good man cast ’em out. Now, ef any one woman hed seven such lively devils in her ez the Green Snake hez, then she must hev been a healthy female, thet’s all. How gits on the grub, Jule?”
“Near done, Ben. In five minutes.”
“All right. Soon as convenient I’ll worry down a piece of thet venison. I’d like to make a trade with Jan fer this wife of mine. She ain’t no use to me, an’ I think she’d be just the woman for Jan.”
“I dells you again, I don’t vant no voomans ash vas hev such names ash Hill-a-baloo,” added Jan. “Schnake—Creen Schnake! Der Himmel, dat ish dreadful! Don’t you talk mit me no more ’pout her. I rather gifs you de knife dan marry a voomans like that.”
“Wal, I’m sorry we kain’t make a trade,” said Ben, regretfully; “raally sorry. I’d like to sell her to some likely man thet would set store by her, an’ not run away from her in less than two months. I wouldn’t risk a cent thet any man could keep his nat’ral senses an’ stay with her longer then that, unless he was sorter seasoned to it, same as I was. I’d ’a’ been a chief among the Crows now, ef it hadn’t been fer thet.”