“You don’t know this man?”
“Oh, yes, I know him.”
“He ain’t my lawful, wedded husband?”
“I don’t know that he isn’t, of course. It only surprises me.”
“Surprises ye, does it? Well, when I think of it, it surprises me, too. To think that I should ’a’ married a walkin’ shadder of a man like that, a living mummy that grins and acts like a baboon; and then that he should run away frum me, when I stood ready to lavish all my wifely love on him. Yes, it surprises me, too.” She glared at the scout. “Why did you tell me that you wasn’t Persimmon Pete?”
“Because I am not.”
“What!” she shrieked. “You deny it?”
“Don’t deny anything, Buffler!” wailed Nomad. “It’ll be wuss fer ye. Admit everything she says. If she asks me ain’t I the man in the moon, I’m saying ‘yes’ to her every time.”
“You are married to her?” said the scout.
“Waugh! Buffler, she made me do it!”