“That’s so,” agreed Pretty. “An’ if I’m any judge, that’s just ’bout how pore Eve feels.”
“Pore?” sniggered Jane.
“Yes, ‘pore.’” Pretty’s manner assumed its most pronounced austerity. “That gal ain’t what she was, an’––an’ I can’t get the rights of it. What for does she keep right on with her needle, with all those dollars? She don’t never laff now for sure. There’s something on her mind, and it’s my belief it’s Will Henderson. Say, Kate Crombie told me that Eve never spent any o’ those dollars, an’ it was her belief she ain’t never touched ’em. She says it’s ’cause of him. She says it’s ’cause she hates Will, has hated him ever since that time she fell agin the coal box. That was Will. Kate said so; and her man fixed Eve up. Say, he orter been lynched. An’ if the men-folk won’t do it, then we ought to. It makes my blood boil thinkin’ of it. Pore Eve! I allus liked her. But she’s fair lost her snap since she’s got married. Guess it ’ud bin different if she’d married Jim Thorpe.”
“I don’t know,” exclaimed Jane, with some antagonism. “I don’t know. Jim Thorpe’s a nice seemin’ feller enough, someways, but–––”
“But––what?” inquired Mrs. Rust, eagerly.
“Oh, nothin’ much, on’y there’s queer yarns goin’ of that same Jim Thorpe. Restless was yarning with two of McLagan’s boys, who are out huntin’ the stolen cattle. Well, they got a yarn from one of the boys of the ‘
P.’s’ Course I don’t know if it’s right, but this feller seen a big bunch of cattle running where Jim keeps his stock. An’ he swore positive they was re-branded with Jim’s mark. You know, ‘
