"
Westerfelt led his horse into the yard, and to the well near the door.
He pushed the bucket into the opening, and allowed the wooden windlass
to fly round of its own accord till the bucket struck the water.
"Thirsty?" she asked. "I'll git the gourd."
He nodded. "And I want to water my horse; every branch and creek is
bridged for the last ten miles."
While she was in the house he wound up the bucket, swearing at the
horse for continually touching an inquisitive nose to his moving elbow.
She returned with a great gourd dipper. He rinsed it out, and, filling
it, drank long and deeply. Then he refilled the gourd and offered it
to her.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I forgot my politeness."
"I ain't dry," she said. "I was jest a-lookin' at you, John; you look
so much older an' different-like."
"Oh, I reckon I'm all right," he said. "How's Luke?" emptying the
bucket into the trough and watching the horse drink.
"As well as common; me an' him wus both bound fer you to git the
livery-stable, an' we are glad the trade's closed. It will seem like
ol' times to have a body from Fannin over heer.
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