John, you don't seem to be any nigher marryin'
now than you wus awhile back."
Westerfelt smiled, but made no reply.
"Well, you'd better keep on a-thinkin' it over," counselled Slogan, as
he took the saddle and blanket from his horse and examined a rubbed
spot on the animal's back; "thar's a heap more fun marryin' in a body's
mind than before a preacher; the law don't allow a feller but one sort
of a wife, but a single man kin live alone, an' fancy he's got any kind
he wants, an' then she won't be eternally a-yellin' to 'im to fetch in
fire-wood. A young feller kin make a woman a sight more perfect than
the Creator ever did, an' He's had a sight o' practice. I reckon the
Lord made 'em like they are to keep men humble and contrite an' to show
up to advantage His best work on t'other shore. But so long, John, I
must be goin'."
Chapter XI
It was a dark night two weeks later. Westerfelt, quite recovered from
his illness, was returning from a long ride through the mountains,
where he had been in search of a horse that had strayed from the stable.
The road along the mountain-side was narrow and difficult to follow.
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