“Yas,” he responded, “warmish,”
It was the full measure of salutation, and the full measure of introduction to all matters, important or unimportant, on the watershed of the Alleghanies. In the mountains no man hurried with his speech. There was time to be fully understood, and time to answer fully; then what one did afterwards, one was not so likely to regret. In the flat lands men are not so wise, perhaps.
The sheriff struck a match on his saddle skirt, lighted his pipe, and puffed a cloud of blue smoke rings out over the placid ears of the “murky dun.” Presently he took the pipe stem from between his teeth and looked down at the solitary proprietor of Jim's Ford.
“Spitler,” he drawled, “what 's in the bundle?”
“Ye kin look,” responded the mountaineer with prodigious unconcern.
The sheriff replaced his pipe and lapsed into silence for a moment. Then he said:
“Where did you find it, Spitler?”
“I reckin ye saw,” replied the scion of the house of Hamrick.
The guardian of order looked up at the blue sky over the top of his nose glasses. Then he looked down. “Spitler,”—he said softly.
The mountaineer interrupted. “Sheriff,” he growled, “old Spitler Hamrick don't stand no shammackin' round the bush. Smoky hell! He aint never stood it. Things air goin' to be like this: ye kin mosey' down here and git this bundle, air ye kin ride on. But ye can't set on you hoss and jaw. Smoky hell! Ye can't set on you hoss and jaw.”