All the other men awakened in a body. Whomsoever the individual might be, he had the power to rouse them to a lively exhibition of interest. One and all braced themselves to look at the horseman approaching along the Barnesville Road.
“He’s a kinder curi’s-lookin’ feller,” observed one philosopher.
“Well, at a distance of half a mile, perhaps he is,” said Tom. “In a cloud of dust and the sun blazin’ down on him like thunderation, I don’t know but you’re right, Nath.”
“Git out!” replied Nath, placidly. “He’s a curi’s-actin’ feller, anyway. Don’t go nowhar nor hev nothin’ to say to nobody. Jest sets right down in that thar holler with his wife, as if b’ars an’ painters wus all a man or woman wanted round ’em.”
“She’s a doggoned purty critter,” said the little man in large trousers, placidly. He had not appeared to listen to the conversation, but, as this pertinent remark proved, it had not been lost on him.
His observation was greeted with a general laugh, which seemed to imply that the speaker had a character which his speech sustained.
“Whar did ye see her, Stamps?” was asked.
The little man remained unmoved, still dangling his legs over the porch side, still ruminating, still gazing with pale, blinking eyes up the road.
“Went over the mountain to ’tend court to Bakersville, an’ took it on my road to go by thar. She was settin’ in the door, an’ I see her afore she seen me. When she hearn the sound of my mule’s feet, she got up an’ went into the house. It was a powerful hot mornin’, ‘n’ I wus mighty dry, ‘n’ I stopped fur a cool drink. She didn’t come out when fust I hollered, ‘n’ when she did come, she looked kinder skeered ‘n’ wouldn’t talk none. Kep’ her sunbonnet over her face, like she didn’t want to be seen overmuch.”
“What does she look like, Ezry?” asked one of the younger men.