"Whisky!" The man looked up in surprise. "This jug never held any whisky! It's my vinegar jug. I don't drink."
Patty stared at him in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me you carry a jug of vinegar with you wherever you go?"
For the first time since she had known him she saw that his eyes were twinkling, and that his lips were very near a smile. "No, not exactly, but, you see, that first time I met you I happened to be riding from town with this jug full of vinegar. I noticed the look you gave it, an' it tickled me most to death. So, after that, every time I figured I'd meet up with you I brought the jug along. I'd pour out the vinegar an' fill it up with water, an' sometimes I'd just pack it empty—then when I'd hit town, I'd get it filled again. I bet Johnson, over there, thinks I'm picklin' me a winter's supply of prickly pears. I must have bought close to half a barrel of vinegar this summer."
"Vil Holland! You carried that jug—went to all that trouble, just to—to tease me?"
"That's about the size of it. An' Gosh! How you hated that jug."
"It might have—it nearly did, make me hate you, too."
"'Might have,' an' 'nearly,' an' 'if,' are all words about alike—they all sort of fall short of amountin' to anythin'. It 'might have'—but, somehow, things don't work out that way. The only thing that counts is, it didn't."
Out on the trail they met Watts riding toward town. "Wher's Microby?" he asked, addressing Patty.
"Microby! I haven't seen Microby since early this morning. She was riding down a coulee not far from Vil's camp."
"Didn't yo' send for her?"