m an' yelled to Uncle Mack to
stop fiddlin'; then he 'lowed ef any man thar tried to oust 'im he'd
put windows in 'im. Frank Hansard, Lum Evans, and Andy Treadwell made
signs at one another an' closed in on 'im. They didn't fully realize
who they had to deal with, though. I hain't got much use for Toot, but
he'll fight a circular saw bare-handed. He backed into a corner over a
pile o' split pine-knots an' grabbed one that Thad Muntford declared
wuz shaped like the jaw-bone o' Samson's ass. It had a long handle an'
weighed about fifteen pounds. On my word, it seemed to me he slugged
Frank and Andy at exactly the same time. You could 'a' heerd the'r
skulls pop to the gate. They both fell kerflop in front of 'im. That
left jest Lum Evans facin' 'im 'thout a thing in his hands. He dodged
Toot's pine-knot when he swung it at 'im an' then Toot laughed an'
thowed it down and shook his fists at 'im, an' tol' 'im to come on for
a fair fisticuff. Jest then Frank come to an' started to rise, but
Toot sent 'im back with a kick in the face, an' helt 'im down with 'is
boot on 'is neck. Andy backed out of the door, an' then Toot ordered
Uncle Mack to play, an' tried to get the girls to dance with 'im, but
nobody would, so he danced by 'isse'f, while Doc White an' Mis' Lumpkin
worked on the wounded men in the next room. Since then Toot has al'ays
wore his hat at dances. He swore he never would go to one unless he
did."

Westerfelt laughed. "Who's the young lady?" he asked.

"Harriet Floyd. Her mother keeps the hotel. They 'ain't been here so
mighty long; they're Tennessee folks."

"Sweethearts?"

"Don't know. He's 'er very shadder. I reckon she likes that sort of a
man; she's peculiar, anyway."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't know, but she is." Jennie shrugged her shoulders. "She don't
git on with us. In a crowd o' girls she never has much to say; it
always seemed to me she was afraid somebody would find out some'n'
about 'er. She never mentions Tennessee. But she's a great favorite
with all the boys. They'd be a string o' 'em round 'er now, but they
don't want to make Toot mad."

"Right han' ter yo' pahtners," called out Uncle Mack, rapping on the
back of his fiddle with his bow. "Salute yo' pahtners; balance all!"
and the dance began. "Swing corners! Fust fo' for'ards, en back agin!"

"Faster, Unc' Mack!" cried Sarah Wambush, as she swung past the old
negro. "That hain't the right time!"

"Wait