“And I hate to hear the blather of a nanny goat!”
She lifted her umbrella.
“Say that ag’in, you red-headed son of a scarecrow, and I’ll ram this umbreller down yer neck and open it up inside of ye! I’d have you know that I’m a lady, and don’t allow no back talk.”
“What kind o’ lookin’ feller is your husband?” another asked.
“Well, he’s better-lookin’ than them that slanders him, if he is little and runty! He’s a small man, slim as a blacksnake, and wiry as a watch spring, and he’s a bit oldish. He was in this town less’n a week ago.”
“Kate, I reckon we ain’t met up with him.”
“Wot’s his name?” said another.
“What’s that got to do with it, if ye ain’t seen him?” she demanded.
She fixed her eyes on a man who had, a moment before, descended the steps of the Golconda Hotel, and who came now toward the crowd that hedged her in.
The man was Buffalo Bill; handsome, muscular, dressed in his border costume, and towering a full head over the other men in the street.