“It’s some of Jake Prowers’s work.”
“I don’t think it, Clint.” The foreman turned to Ruth. “Who was it took you outa the automobile, honey?”
“A man. He was gonna whip me wiv a great big stick, like he said Daddy did him.”
“What? Whip you, like—” Lon stopped to wrestle with and overthrow a thought. “Why, dog-gone my hide, it’s that tramp Daniels has been lookin’ for.”
Clint fired questions at Black like shots out of a machine gun. “Was he a small man? Lean? Town clothes? Talk outa the corner of his mouth? A rat-faced fellow? Fingers cigarette-stained?”
Black shook his head. “You’ve sure enough got me there, Clint. I only seen him at a distance, but seemed like he was a big husky guy. Yes, I’m ’most sure he was. Big as the side of a barn.”
“Did he seem big to you, Ruthie?” Lon asked gently.
“Umpha!” She nodded her head vigorously. “He was a nawful man, ’n’ he said he’d whip me like Daddy did him.”
“Talk like this, honey?” Lon drew down a corner of his mouth and spoke out of it. “‘De king o’ Prooshia on de job.’”
Her curls danced violently up and down with acquiescence.