The little man shifted his feet; then allowed himself to inquire, as if regarding the habits of some dear departed friend:
"Have you chose any favorite records?"
"We all has our picks. Speakin' personal, I'm stuck on that baggage coach song of Mrs. More's."
"Mo_ray!_" Willie corrected. "M-o-r-a! Heleney Mo_ray_ is the lady's name."
"Mebbe so. Our foot-runner likes that Injun war-dance best of all." Carara smiled at Cloudy, who nodded, as if pleased by the compliment. Then it was that the Flying Heart spokesman made an inquiry in hushed, hesitating tones.
"How do you like The Holy City"—he removed his hat, as did those back of him. "As sung by Madam-o-sella Melby?"
"Rotten!" Gallagher said promptly. "That's a bum, for fair."
During one breathless instant the wizened man stood as if disbelieving his ears, the enormity of the insult robbing him of speech and motion. Then he uttered a snarl, and Stover was barely in time to intercept the backward fling of his groping hand.
"No voylence, Willie! There's ladies present."
Stover's captive ground his teeth and struggled briefly, then turned and made for the open prairie without a word.