He was the more surprised to see Holley
unmistakably amiable.
"Hello, Holley! How are you?" he replied. "Have a seat."
"Wal, I'm right spry fer an old bird. But I can't climb wuth a d--n . . . .
Say, this here beats Bostil's view."
"Yes, it's fine," replied Slone, rather awkwardly, as he sat down on the porch
step. What could Holley want with him? This old rider was above curiosity or
gossip.
"Slone, you ain't holdin' it ag'in me--thet I tried to shut you up the other
day?" he drawled, with dry frankness.
"Why, no, Holley, I'm not. I saw your point. You were right. But Bostil made
me mad."
"Sure! He'd make anybody mad. I've seen riders bite themselves, they was so
mad at Bostil. You called him, an' you sure tickled all the boys. But you hurt
yourself, fer Bostil owns an' runs this here Ford."
"So I've discovered," replied Slone.
"You got yourself in bad right off, fer Bostil has turned the riders ag'in
you, an' this here punchin' of Creech has turned the village folks ag'in you.
What'd pitch into him fer?"
Slone caught the kindly interest and intent of the rider, and it warmed him as
Brackton's disapproval had alienated him.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381