"She's in her room getting ready for company," was Eleanor's amused reply.
"Wall, you-all kin do me a big favor ef you-all explain like-as-how Ah was too sick to come in, to-night. She tol' me Ah jus' had to call on her, to-night, but Ah ain't got courage. Ah kin see jus' whar all this callin' and sittin' alone of evenin's, is goin' to land me. Sary Dodd's got a powerful way for a woman, and Ah ain't no marryin' man—am Ah, Polly?"
Jeb's plaintive tone and his beseeching eyes convulsed Eleanor with the desire to laugh, but Polly saw how serious he was, in his fear of being caught by a woman's wiles, and she replied:
"No, Jeb; you are not a marrying man, I can say that much. And Sary ought to know better than to lure you on with all her past experiences of mankind."
Polly's earnest explanation made Eleanor lose control of herself and she sat down in a kitchen chair and laughed so heartily that Sary hurried forth. Jeb instantly ducked and tried to lose himself in the dense darkness of the out-of-doors, but Sary was too quick for him.
She darted to the door, called him with an imperative voice, and brought the recreant back to his duty of calling. Then she turned to the two girls, and said calmly, but with meaning:
"Ah'se much obliged fer th' dish-washin'. Ah'll see that the kitchen is set to rights fer the evenin'."
With this dismissal, Polly and Eleanor had to go, and laughing still, they went through the living-room door to join the others who sat about the round table figuring and planning.
Sary very quietly closed the door between the two rooms, and Eleanor whispered to Polly: "Poor Jeb! We had to leave him to his fate, after all."
By six o'clock the next morning, the riders were on the way to Oak
Creek. Polly and Eleanor rode side by side and discussed a good name
for the claim. After suggesting and rejecting many fine sounding names,
Polly finally chuckled gleefully.