“That’s all right,” she countered serenely. “I’ve made up my mind to stay anyway.”
He missed two puffs while he stared at her.
“Glad to see you’re showing sense,” he blurted. “But what’s the reason for the sudden change of heart?”
“You’re smokin’ the reason. ’Most any man round here would have kilt that catamount. That’d be fun. But none of ’em would use up his last smokin’ on a woman—not if both her legs were busted. A feller that would do that is worth trustin’.”
He threw up his hands.
“Talk about feminine logic! That beats ’em all,” he laughed. “Well, fair dam—I beg pardon—young woman, just who are you, if I may ask?”
The answer staggered him.
“Me? Oh, I’m only Nigger Nat’s girl.”
Over his pipe he blinked at her.
“My name’s Marry,” she went on. “Marry Oaks. My whole name is Marryin’, but it’s Marry for short.”