Then he puts his hand on Glory’s arm and says to her:
“Girl, I want to thank yuh for your kindness to her. She tol’ me some of it. Yuh see, she never wrote to me and I never knew how things was. I decided to come, yuh see.”
“You’re welcome,” says Glory thoughtful-like.
“Seven year and a few months,” says the old man, like he was talking to himself. “Me wonderin’ why she don’t write, and—and it’s a long ways to Arizony—on a mule.”
“Woman sick?” asks Hashknife.
“Not now,” says Glory sad-like. “Maybe she’s better off, I don’t know. Anything is better than livin’ here like she had to live.”
“Where’s her husband?” asks Hashknife, like he didn’t know.
“Gone to town,” says Glory. “He—he was going to try and get some medicine.”
“Ain’t yuh got no doctor?” I asks.
“Yes, but——”