“Wal,” said he, making a move to pass me, “I reckon I'll slip in and take what I've a mind to, and move on.”
Now I liked the man's looks very much, but I did not know what he would do. So I got in his way and clutched the gun. It was loaded, but not primed, and I emptied a little powder from the flask in the pan. At that he grinned.
“You're a good boy, sonny,” he said. “Do you reckon you could hit me if you shot?”
“Yes,” I said. But I knew I could scarcely hold the gun out straight without a rest.
“And do you reckon I could hit you fust?” he asked.
At that I laughed, and he laughed.
“What's your name?”
I told him.
“Who do you love best in all the world?” said he.
It was a queer question. But I told him Polly Ann Ripley.