“You bet he don’t. It isn’t safe to twit him about it either. To tell the truth, I was pleased when I heard him swear at Sandy; then I knew it was all right, and Sandy can stand it. Macdonald is a bad man to tackle when he’s mad. There’s nobody in this district can handle him. I’d sooner get a blow from a sledge hammer than meet Mac’s fist when his dander is up. But so long as he swears it’s all right. Say, you’ll stay down for the meeting, won’t you?”
“I think I will. I’ll see what young Bartlett intends to do. It isn’t very far to walk, in any case.”
“There will be lots of nice girls going your way to-night after the meeting. I don’t know but I’ll jog along in that direction myself when it’s over. That’s the principal use I have for the meetings, anyhow.”
The whittler and Yates got down from the bench, and joined the crowd outside. Young Bartlett sat on one of the horses, loath to leave while the tire setting was going on.
“Are you coming, Yates?” he shouted, as his comrade appeared.
“I think I’ll stay for the meeting,” said Yates, approaching him and patting the horse. He had no desire for mounting and riding away in the presence of that critical assemblage.
“All right,” said young Bartlett. “I guess I’ll be down at the meeting, too; then I can show you the way home.”
“Thanks,” said Yates; “I’ll be on the lookout for you.”
Young Bartlett galloped away, and was soon lost to sight in a cloud of dust. The others had also departed with their shod horses; but there were several new arrivals, and the company was augmented rather than diminished. They sat around on the fence, or on the logs dumped down by the wayside.
Few smoked, but many chewed tobacco. It was a convenient way of using the weed, and required no matches, besides being safer for men who had to frequent inflammable barns.