Part 8 (1/2)
Sis's response to this transparent fib was an infectious peal of laughter, and a kiss which amply repaid Teague for any discomfort to which he may have been subjected.
Once, after Sis had nestled up against Teague, she asked somewhat irrelevantly--
”Pap, do you reckon Mr. Woodward was a revenue spy after all?”
”Well, not to'rds the last. He drapped that business airter he once seed its which-aways. What makes you ast?”
”Because I hate and despise revenue spies.”
”Well, they hain't been a-botherin' roun lately, an' we hain't got no call to hate 'em tell they gits in sight. Hatin' is a mighty ha'sh disease. When Puss's preacher comes along, he talks ag'in it over the Bible, an' when you call 'im in to dinner, he talks ag'in it over the chicken-bones. I reckon hit's mighty bad--mighty bad.”
”Did you like him?”
”Who? Puss's preacher?”
”Now, you know I don't mean _him_, pap.”
”_Oh!_ Cap'n Woodward. Well, I tell you what, he had mighty takin'
ways. Look in his eye, an' you wouldn't see no muddy water; an' he had grit. They hain't no two ways about that. When I ast 'im out with us that night, he went like a man that had a stool to a quiltin'-bee; an'
when Duke Dawson an' Sid Parmalee flung out some er the'r slurs, he thes snapt his fingers in the'r face, an' ups an' says, says he, 'Gents, ef youer up for a frolic, I'm your man, an' ef youer in for a fight, thes count me in,' says he. The boys wuz a little drinky,” said Teague, apologetically.
Sis squeezed up a little closer against her father's shoulder.
”Did they fight, pap?”
”Lord bless you, no. I thes taken am' flung my han' in Duke's collar an' fetched 'im a shake er two, an put 'im in a good humour thereckly; an' then airterwerds Tip Watson sot 'em all right when he read out the letter you foun' on the floor.”
”Oh, pap!” Sis exclaimed in a horrified tone, ”I _slapped_ that letter out of Mr. Woodward's _hand!_”
Teague laughed exultantly.
”What'd he say?”
”He didn't say _anything_. He looked like he expected the floor to open and swallow him. I never was so ashamed in my life. I've cried about it a thousand times.”
”Why, honey, I wouldn't take an' _cry_ 'bout it ef I wuz you.”
”Yes you would, pap, if--if--you were me. I don't know what came over me; I don't know how I could be so hateful. No _lady_ would ever do such a thing as that.”
Sis gave her opinion with great emphasis. Teague took his pipe out of his mouth.
”Well, I tell you what, honey, they mought er done wuss. I let you know, when folks is got to be a-runnin' here an' a-hidin' yander, hit's thes about time for the gals for to lose the'r manners. n.o.body wouldn't a-blamed you much ef you'd a-fetched the Cap'n a clip stidder the letter; leastways, I wouldn't.”
The girl s.h.i.+vered and caught her breath.
”If I had hit _him_,” she exclaimed vehemently, ”I should have gone off and killed myself.”
”_Shoo!_” said Teague in a tone intended to be at once contemptuous and rea.s.suring, but it was neither the one nor the other.
This conversation gave Teague fresh cause for anxiety. From his point of view, Sis's newly-developed humility was absolutely alarming, and it added to his uneasiness. He recognised in her tone a certain shyness which seemed to appeal to him for protection, and he was profoundly stirred by it without at all understanding it. With a tact that might be traced to either instinct or accident, he refrained from questioning her as to her troubles. He was confused, but watchful. He kept his own counsel, and had no more conferences with Puss. Perhaps Puss was also something of a mystery; if so, she was old enough to take care of her own affairs.