“Durn both sorts!” exclaims the ex-Ranger in a tone of chagrin. “Ef’t warn’t for the need o’ ’em jest now, I say the Staked Plain air better ’ithout ’em, as wu’d anywars else. Why can’t she an’ me be tied thegither ’ithout any sech senseless saramony? Walt Wilder wants no mumblin’ o’ prayers at splicin’ him to the gurl he’s choosed for his partner. An’ why shed thar be, supposin’ we both gie our mutooal promises one to the tother?”
“True. But that would not be marriage such as would lawfully and legally make you man and wife.”
“Doggone the lawfulness or legullity o’ it! Priest or no priest, I want Concheteter for my squaw; an’ I’ve made up my mind to hev her. Say, Frank! Don’t ye think the old doc ked do it? He air a sort o’ professional.”
“No, no; the doctor would be of no use in that capacity. It’s his business to unite broken bones, not hands and hearts. But, Walt, if you are really resolved on the thing, there will, no doubt, be an opportunity to carry out your intention in a correct and legitimate manner. You must be patient, however, and wait till you come across either a priest or a Protestant clergyman.”
“Doggoned ef I care which,” is the rejoinder of the giant. “Eyther’ll do; an’ one o’ ’em ’ud be more nor surficient, ef ’t war left ter Walt Wilder. But, hark’ee, Frank!” he continues, his face assuming an astute expression, “I’d like to be sure ’bout the thing now—that is, to get the gurl’s way o’ thinking on ’t. Fact is, I’ve made up my mind to be sure, so as thar may be no slips or back kicks.”
“Sure, how?”
“By procurin’ her promise; getting betrothed, as they call it.”
“There can be no harm in that. Certainly not.”
“Wal, I’m gled you think so; for I’ve sot my traps for the thing, an’ baited ’em too. Thet air’s part o’ my reezun for askin’ ye out hyar. She’s gin me the promise o’ a meetin’ ’mong these cotton woods, an’ may kum at any minnit. Soon’s she does, I’m agoin’ to perpose to her; an’ I want to do it in reg’lar, straightforrard way. As I can’t palaver Spanish, an’ you kin, I know’d ye wudn’t mind transleetin’ atween us. Ye won’t, will ye?”
“I shall do that with the greatest pleasure, if you wish it. But don’t you think, Walt, you might learn what you want to know without any interpreter? Conchita may not like my interference in an affair of such a delicate nature. Love’s language is said to be universal, and by it you should understand one another.”