ick,

"Naw; ef I had, I'd push it."

Well, Jeb mos' fell off his cheer, when, ef he hadn't been sech a
skeery idgit, he'd 'a' knowed that Polly Ann was plain open an' shet
a-biddin' fer him. But he sot thar like a knot on a log fer haffen
hour, an' then he rickollected, I reckon, that Abe had tol' him Polly
Ann was peppery an' he mustn't mind, fer Jeb begun a-movin' ag'in till
he was slam-bang agin Polly Ann's cheer. An' thar he sot like a
punkin, not sayin' a word nur doin' nothin'. An' while Polly Ann was
a-wonderin' ef he was gone plumb crazy, blame me ef that durned fool
didn't turn roun' to that peppery gal an' say,

"Booh, Polly Ann!"

Well, Nance had to stuff the bedquilt in her mouth right thar to keep
from hollerin' out loud, fer Polly Ann's hand was a-hangin' down by the
cheer, jes a-waitin' fer a job, and Nance seed the fingers a-twitchin'.
An' Jeb waits another haffen hour an' Jeb says,

"Ortern't I be killed?"

"Whut fer?" says Polly Ann, sorter sharp.

An' Jeb says, "Fer bein' so devilish."

Well, brother, Nance snorted right out thar, an' Polly Ann Sturgill's
hand riz up jes once; an' I've heerd Jeb Somers say the next time he
jumps out o' the Fryin' Pan he's a-goin' to take hell-fire 'stid o'
Cutshin fer a place to light.

THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND

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' a-singin', an' a-sayin' Amen louder
'n anybody when thar was meetin'.

Well, my boy Jim an' a lot o' fellers jes went up fer him right away.
I don't kno