"Jones' foal. Being a fool runs in her family. Wall, Sarah died, and cabbages was gettin' seldom, and Eph was losing confidence in my aim, although I told him I'm tough as sea beef."
"He did attack you then?"
"Not exactly. His acts might have been misunderstood, though. Seemed to me it was time to survey the pasture, and see how much in the way of grub could be spared to a poor widower. These people eats meat, but they like it butchered for 'em, and ripened. Down at the south end, I spared Eph a family of wolverines, one at a time, to make the rations hold out. He began to get encouraged. Then this place was just humming with rattlesnakes, so Eph and me just went around together so long as the hunting was worth the trouble. I doubt if there's any left."
At that I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Then Eph gets sassy, wanting squir'ls and chipmunks. Now thar I was firm. Every striped varmint of 'em may rob my oat sacks, every squir'l may set up and cuss me all day, but they won't get hurt. They scold and swear, but every lil' devil among them knows I like being insulted. Though they has enemies—foxes, mink, skunk, weasel, I fed that lot to Eph, saving the foxes. Tell you, Kate, the landlord began to get so proud he wouldn't know me."
"Your great eagles, Jesse; they kill squirrels, too."
"That's a fact. If I shot the eagles, them squir'ls would get too joyful. Eagles acks as a sort of religion to squir'ls, or they'd forget their prayers. The next proposition was cougars."
"Oh, I'm glad you killed them. At the old ranch I was so terrified I'd lie awake all night."
"And you a musician! Now that's curious. You like lil' small cats, only one foot from top to tip, although I own they're songsters for their size. But a nine foot cougar, with a ten-thousand cat-power voice, composing along as he goes, why he's full of music. Now I was goin' to propose a cougar opera troupe. They'd knock the stuffing out of that Wagner, anyway."
"Not for me, dear. You see, there's trade rivalry. I wish you had shot them."