The woman stood facing him, yet never moved. I could see a red spot begin to glow in either cheek. If I had ever doubted it, I knew now that Maria possessed a temper of her own.
“You ain't no Red Lowrie,” she retorted.
The fellow laughed easily.
“No more I ain't, old woman, but I reckon we ain't so durn far apart when it comes to getting what we go after. Come, honest now, where is the little white-livered cur that runs this shebang?”
Whatever Maria might venture to call her lord and master in the privacy of home, it evidently did not soothe her spirit to hear him thus spoken of by another.
“If Jed Bungay wus hum,” she answered fiercely, her eyes fairly blazing, “I reckon you wouldn't be sprawlin' on thet thar table fer long.”
“Wouldn't I, now? Well, old hen, we've fooled here with you about as long as I care to. Bill, go over there and put some of that bacon on to fry. If she doesn't get out of the way I'll give her something to jump for.” And he patted the stock of his gun.
Instinctively I drew my revolver, and pushed its black muzzle into the light under Jed's nose.
“Shall I give him a dose?” I asked eagerly.
“Not yit; O Lord, not yit!” he exclaimed, dancing from one foot to the other in excitement. “Let ther ol' gal hev a show. I reckon she's good fer ther whole three of 'em, 'less they shoot.”