"It might be different," said Jud.
"Well," said he, "it wouldn't mean different."
Here I took a hand in the dialogue. "What does it mean anyhow?" I said. "It's about the foolest song I ever heard."
"Quiller," replied the hunchback, propping his fist under his bony jaw, "you've heard tell of whistlin' to keep up your courage. Well, that song was made for them as can't whistle."
Jud turned in astonishment. "Afraid?" he said; "what are you afraid of?"
The hunchback leaned over as if about to impart a secret. "Ghosts!" he whispered. I laughed at the discomfiture of the giant, but Ump went on counterfeiting a deep and weird seriousness which, next to his singing, was about the most ludicrous thing in the world. "Ghosts, my laddiebuck. But not the white-sheeted lady that comes an' says, 'Foller me,' nor the spook that carries his head under his arm tied up in a tablecloth, but ghosts, my laddiebuck, that make tracks while they walk."
"I thought ghosts rode broomsticks," said Jud.
"Nary a broomstick," replied the hunchback. "When they are a-follerin' Mister Ward's drovers, it's a little too peaked for long ridin'."
Then he broke off suddenly and called to the ferryman. "Danel," he said, "how many cattle will this boat hold?"
"Big cattle or stockers?" inquired the man.