“You goin' over to Lonesome Cove?”
“Yes,” said Hale impatiently, “I'm going over to Lonesome Cove. Can I stay here all night?”
“Shore!” said the old man hospitably. “That's a fine hoss you got thar,” he added with a chuckle. “Been swappin'?” Hale had to laugh as he climbed down from the bony ear-flopping beast.
“I left my horse in town—he's lame.”
“Yes, I seed you thar.” Hale could not resist: “Yes, and I seed you.” The old man almost turned.
“Whar?” Again the temptation was too great.
“Talking to the Falin who started the row.” This time the Red Fox wheeled sharply and his pale-blue eyes filled with suspicion.
“I keeps friends with both sides,” he said. “Ain't many folks can do that.”
“I reckon not,” said Hale calmly, but in the pale eyes he still saw suspicion.
When they entered the cabin, a little old woman in black, dumb and noiseless, was cooking supper. The children of the two, he learned, had scattered, and they lived there alone. On the mantel were two pistols and in one corner was the big Winchester he remembered and behind it was the big brass telescope. On the table was a Bible and a volume of Swedenborg, and among the usual strings of pepper-pods and beans and twisted long green tobacco were drying herbs and roots of all kinds, and about the fireplace were bottles of liquids that had been stewed from them. The little old woman served, and opened her lips not at all. Supper was eaten with no further reference to the doings in town that day, and no word was said about their meeting when Hale first went to Lonesome Cove until they were smoking on the porch.