Mrs. Porter was half-crying.
“Well, you!”
“What’sa matter?” queried Skeeter. “And what are you folks doin’ out here in the wet? Where’s the train?”
“It went,” said Mrs. Porter, waving one arm down the track. “We—we went to look into the river, I guess.”
“Well,” laughed Skeeter, shifting the weight of Freel’s body, “I had all the looks I wanted. I jumped into the darned thing—me ’n’ the sheriff. I dunno how he liked it. Reckon it was all right, ’cause he slept through it all.”
“Wasn’t he shot?” asked Mrs. Porter. “Them two men was shootin’——”
“Hit him twice, I think.”
“But what was it all about?” asked Mary.
“Me,” chuckled Skeeter. “Them fellers wanted t’ take me away from the sheriff and make a tree decoration out of me.”
“Hang yuh?” exclaimed Mrs. Porter.