It was a thing the old man would have
said to anybody else and in the same tone, but it irritated Westerfelt.
The silence of the couple behind convinced him that it was Bates and
Harriet, for men in love do not talk much. Mrs. Wambush turned her
head and took off her gingham bonnet to get a good look at the man her
son had tried twice to kill. Her features were so much like Toot's
that Westerfelt, who had never seen her before, thought he had
discovered the fountain-head of the young outlaw's villany. He glanced
aside, but she continued to stare at him fixedly.
"How are you comin' on?" she asked him, slapping a little girl in a
blue homespun dress who was about to fall out of the wagon.
"Pretty well, thank you," replied Westerfelt, coldly. He had detected
a suggestion of a sneer about the old woman's lips.
"Cuts _is_ a bad thing," she went on. "I reckon yore doctor bill run
up to some more'n you'd 'a' lost that day by jest lettin' my boy have
some'n to ride out home in."
"Dry up!" thundered old Wambush. He climbed back into his chair and
glared at her.
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