"Ef you dare open yore mouth agin, I'll make you git
right out an' make tracks fer home." The old woman jerked on her
bonnet and turned her face towards the horses. Old Wambush looked over
his shoulder at Westerfelt, a sheepish look on his face.
"Don't pay no 'tention to her," he apologized; "she's had the very old
scratch in 'er ever since Toot was run off; I don't harbor no ill-will,
but women ain't got no reason nohow. They never seem to know when
peace is declared. It's the women that's keepin' up all the strife
twixt North and South right now. Them that shouldered muskets an' fit
an' lived on hard-tack don't want no more uv it."
Westerfelt said nothing.
"Hello thar!" The voice was from the buggy behind. Westerfelt turned.
It was Frank Hansard with Jennie Wynn.
"Hello!" replied Westerfelt, greatly relieved,
"Whyn't you git down an' fight it out while we're waitin'?" jested
Frank, in a low voice. "Anything 'u'd be better'n this; but I'll tell
you, she's a regular wild-cat, if you don't know it."
Westerfelt smiled, but made no response. Beyond Hansard's buggy was
another, and in it sat Harriet and Bates; there was no mistaking the
old-fashioned silk hat and Harriet's gray dress.
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