A Tuckapoo mustang with a white face thrashed through the underbrush, and Sugar Sibley swept down upon them like an avenging fury, flourishing an immense pistol which cracked three times, the bullets kicking the dirt into the faces of the stooping men.
The five men, leaving their money untouched, got up and went away from the place with astonishing speed.
Sugar dismounted, crammed her money into her brown hand-satchel, jumped on the back of Doodle-Bug, and rode away.
An hour later, as the five weary, disconsolate men trailed back to town, they noticed in front of Pap Curtain’s cabin a Tuckapoo mustang with a white face.
Pap sat upon the porch, his mouth filled with chewing-tobacco and his heart filled with vast content.
Skeeter Butts spoke. “Pap is you saw anything of Sugar Sibley?”
“Suttinly,” Pap answered. “She’s layin’ in my cabin on de bed, takin’ a little nap.”
“You ain’t married to her, is you?” Skeeter asked after a moment of meditation.
“Who? Me?” Pap Curtain roared. “Naw! Sugar is my gal! I’m her daddy! Don’t you remember my gal, Skeeter? Dey used to call her Sweet befo’ her maw lef’ me an’ went down to Baton Rouge.”
Skeeter did not answer, and the gloomy procession moved on. Finally Skeeter Butts mumbled: