“Missie gone fo’ lide,” says he, offhanded-like.
“Ride?” says Windy, foolish-like, and Sing nods.
“Yessum. Yo’ sabe glay hoss, Tinker name?”
“Uh-huh.”
“She lide glay hoss day she come. Yo’ sabe? I t’ink she lide allesame glay hoss today. Blimeby I see glay hoss Tinker name. She no like, yo’ sabe? She allesame like glay hoss like Tinker. Me seeum.”
Windy sets there, staring at Sing, and then he gets slow-like to his feet.
“Wait a minute, Sing. She rode a gray horse, but didn’t ride Tinker?”
“Yessum. Tinker down by collal. She rideum glay hoss. Yo’ sabe?”
Windy beats it for the door and I went behind him. Down by the corral stands the gray horse she rode the day she came here. We went into the stable, but the saddle ain’t on the peg.
“What’s all the fuss about?” I asks.