The snow was now falling rapidly, and Morton pushed his tired filley on another mile. Again he hallooed. This time he was welcomed by an old woman, who, in answer to his inquiry, said he might put the mare in the stable. She didn't ginerally keep no travelers, but it was too orful a night fer a livin' human bein' to be out in. Her son Jake would be in thireckly, and she 'lowed he wouldn't turn nobody out in sech a night. 'Twuz good ten miles to the next house.
Morton hastened to stable Dolly, and to feed her, and to take his place by the fire.
Presently the son came in.
"Howdy, stranger?" said the youth, eyeing Morton suspiciously. "Is that air your mar in the stable?"
"Ye-es," said Morton, hesitatingly, uncertain whether he could call Dolly his or not, seeing she had been transferred to Burchard.
"Whar did you come from?"
"From Hissawachee."
"Whar you makin' fer?"
"I don't exactly know."
"See here, mister! Akordin' to my tell, that air's a mighty peart sort of a hoss fer a feller to ride what don' know, to save his gizzard, whar he mout be a travelin'. We don't keep no sich people as them what rides purty hosses and can't giv no straight account of theirselves. Akordin' to my tell, you'll hev to hitch up yer mar and putt. It mout gin us trouble to keep you."