A-shootin’ craps——
“Oh! Why, howdy do, Miss Wing o’ the Crow Jeddo! This is a surprise, as the fella says. Welcome to our city! Nice mornin’, I’ll say!”
Breast heaving, Wing o’ the Crow stood in the cook-tent door, black eyes wide but narrowing. Dough and flour covered her brown bare arms.
“Well, for Heaven’s sake! Was all the jails full in Nebrasky?”
Halfaman clambered lightly down over the wide-tired wheels. A painful grin creased his freckled face as he sidled toward the door.
“Hello, honey,” he said. “How’s every little insignificant item?”
“Well, you got a nerve!” said Wing o’ the Crow. “Who put you on that water wagon?”
“I did, Wing-o. And I rode the rods all the way here from that little State called Nebrasky to get on ’er and haul water to you. Slip us a kiss, Wing-o!”
“I’ll slip you a poke in that rubber jaw! Go kiss Lil o’ the Lobbies!”
“Now, lissen here, sweetheart! Ain’t you ever gonta ferget that? Here I rambled over four States to say hello to you, and you slip me a line o’ begone-sir patter like that! Didn’t I say I was sorry? I ain’t seen Lil for six months.”