Stranger, you furriners don't nuver
seem to consider that a woman has
always got the devil to fight in two
people at once! Hit's two agin one, I
tell ye, an' hit hain't fa'r.

That's what I said more'n two year
ago, when Rosie Branham was a-layin'
up thar at Dave Hall's, white an' mos'
dead. An', GOD, boys, I says, that leetle
thing in thar by her shorely can't be to
blame.

Thar hain't been a word agin Rosie
sence; an', stranger, I reckon thar nuver
will be. Fer, while the gal hain't got
hide o' kith or kin, thar air two fellers
up hyeh sorter lookin' atter Rosie; an'
one of 'em is the shootin'es' man on
this crick, I reckon, 'cept one; an',
stranger, that's t'other.

Rosie kep' her mouth shet fer a long
while; an' I reckon as how the feller
'lowed she wasn't goin' to tell. Co'se
the woman folks got hit out'n her--they
al'ays gits whut they want, as you know
--an' thar the sorry cuss was--a-livin'
up thar in the Bend, jes aroun' that
bluff o' lorrel yander, a-lookin' pious, an'