"Hey?"
"Painted other pictures?"
"Slathers—horses an' animals an' Ben Crider with his gun an' all sech, an' deer. Say now, I seen another artist down to the Durango fair last fall that was a genuine wonder an' no mistake. He was writin' callin' cards at a little table, an' he could draw a runnin' deer all in flourishes an' curlycurves, without liftin' his pen from the card, all slick an' natural as you'd want to——"
"Did you know his mother?"
"No-o-o—didn't even know him. I jest stopped to look an' he drawed a fine big bird right while I watched, havin' a ribbon in its bill with my name on it in red ink; about as tasty a thing as you'd care to see, fur a quarter of a dollar. It's round the house somewhur now, I reckon, if you——"
"Ewing's kid's mother?"
"Hey? Oh, no, I never knew that lady. She passed away sommers off up the state before these other parties moved in."
"Does the boy resemble his father?"
"Ewing? Wa'al, not to say resemble. In fact he didn't favor him, not at all, that I can rec'lect. He must of been most like his ma."
The lady had been speaking as from a distance, staring fixedly into the fire, with the distraction of one engaged in some hopeless feat of memory. So intently aloof was she that Pierce had to repeat his next remark.