“Over to the Ridge,” answered Joe, “of a feller named Johnson.”
“Jest so—I reckon 't was his father I give Nellie to when I went away. She was a frisky filly then—she don't look nothin' like that now.”
“Mamie” turned, as if her former master's voice had stirred some old memory. “She's got the evil eye,” Mr. Ball continued. “You wanter be keerful.”
“She's all right, I guess,” Joe replied.
“Young feller,” said Mr. Ball earnestly, “do you chew terbacker?”
“Yep, but I ain't got no more. I'm on the last hunk.”
Mr. Ball stroked his stained beard. “I useter,” he said, reminiscently, “afore I was merried.”
Joe whistled idly, still watching for Hepsey.
“Young feller,” said Mr. Ball, again, “there's a great deal of merryin' and givin' in merriage in this here settlement, ain't there?”
“Not so much as there might be.”