“Cuss me, Bill!” the latter at length rejoined—“cuss me! ef yur ain’t as durned a fool as the young fellur hisself! Love’s a strong feelin! He, he, he—ho, ho, hoo! Wal, I guess it must a be to make sich dodrotted fools o’ reezunable men. As yit, it hain’t afooled this child, I reck’n.”
“You never knewd what love war, old hoss?”
“Thur yur off o’ the trail, Bill-ee. I did oncest—yis, oncest I wur in love, plum to the toe-nails. But thet wur a gurl to git sweet on. Ye-es, thet she wur, an no mistake!”
This speech ended in a sigh that sounded like the blowing of a buffalo.
“Who wur the gal?” inquired Garey after a pause. “White, or Injun?”
“Injun!” exclaimed Rube, in a contemptuous tone. “No; I reck’n not, boyee. I don’t say thet, for a wife, an Injun ain’t jest as good as a white, an more convaynient she are to git shet of when yur tired o’ her. I’ve hed a good grist o’ squaws in my time—hef-a-dozen maybe, an maybe more—but this I kin say, an no boastin neyther, thet I never sold a squaw yet for a plug o’ bacca less than I gin for her; an on most o’ ’em I made a clur profit. Thurfur, Billee, I don’t object to a Injun fur a wife: but wives is one thing, an sweethearts is diff’rent, when it comes to thet. Now the gurl I’m a-talkin ’bout wur my sweetheart.”
“She wur a white gal, then?”
“Are allyblaster white? She wur white as the bleached skull o’ a huffier; an sesh har! ’Twur as red as the brush o’ a kitfox! Eyes, too. Ah, Billee, boy, them wur eyes to squint out o’! They wur as big as a buck’s, an as soft as smoked fawn-skin. I never seed a pair o’ eyes like hern!”
“What wur her name?”
“Her name wur Char’ty, an as near as I kin remember, her other name wur Holmes—Char’ty Holmes. Ye-es, thet wur the name.