“Yes,” said Joslin, “I know about that. But if I don’t preach there, someone else will.”
“Well, what then?” demanded the fierce old woman of him. “What’s the matter with ye, boy? Hain’t ye as good a man as yore daddy, or air ye made all of skim melk?”
He only shook his head, and tried to smile.
“Ye’re a-workin’ right alongside of them Gannts up thar, they tell me,” went on the old dame. “Hit don’t look to me like ye had sand enough to hurt a flea. Why hain’t ye killed old Absalom long afore this? My Lord, looks to me like ye’d had chancet enough! Did ye come back fer yore pistol?”
“No, Granny, I didn’t come back for my pistol.”
“If ye don’t kill that man I’ll do it myself some time!” exclaimed the old woman savagely. “I hain’t a-skeered to do it, if ye air. An’ look at Chan Bullock—he’s all the leader the Joslins has got now, sence ye turned tail an’ run out. He’s a-workin’ now, too, along with the Gannts—well, maybe he’s only waitin’ to git a good chancet. Maybe he’ll git old Absalom yit some time.”
“I don’t think he will,” said David Joslin quietly. “They’ve slept side by side for more than one night, and neither made a move. Neither of them had a gun—there’s not a pistol in the whole lot.”
“Well, couldn’t Chan taken a hammer and mashed him while he was asleep?” demanded the old woman. “What better chancet will he ever hev than he’s got right now? Did them people ever give us ary chancet, I’d like to know?”
“No; nor did we them until now, Granny. But that day’s gone by.”
“Don’t ye be too damn sure,” reiterated the fiery old dame. “They’ll git ye yit, ef ye don’t watch out.”