“Soup?” asks th’ lady.

“Are we?” asks Ren, turnin’ to Sig, who is also industriously sizin’ up th’ beauty show.

“Intensely,” agrees Sig, and th’ two females beat it fer th’ kitchen.

“Do you gentlemen live here?” asks th’ pretty one, when she deposits th’ soup on th’ table.

“We—huh—yes’m I reckon yuh might say we do,” stammers Ren, tryin’ to eat soup with his fork and keep both hands out of sight.

“We don’t usually live here,” amended Sig. “But we can. You livin’ here?”

Th’ other female has jist come out of th’ kitchen and she answers:

“My cousin and I bought this place a week ago from Mr. Peyton. I am Miss Matilda Beebee, and my cousin here is Miss Rosalind Madeline McGuire.”

Ren spilt his soup gittin’ up and reaches out his hand.

“Pleased to meet yuh,” says he, sayin’ th’ same thing to both of them. “I’m Sigismund Alexander Watson, and my friend here is Ren Merton.”

“Christened,” says Ren, “Renley St. Clair Merton. I welcomes yuh to Piperock.”

“Ren,” says Sig, when they had managed to tear themselves away from th’ eatin’ house, “where did you git that l-e-y on Ren, and also that St. Clair?”

“Slick-eared ’em,” grinned Ren, “jist like you did i-s-m-u-n-d and Alexander. Do you think fer uh minute that I eats dust from any bow-legged cow trailer when it comes to names? Not a-tall. Sabe?”

“Some filly!” states Sig. “Mama mine! Some filly!”

“We’re goin’ to have preachin’ tonight in Piperock,” states Buck, as he slides th’ poison vial down th’ bar to th’ boys.

“What for is this preachin’?” asks Ren. “Somebody dead?”

“Nope. Jist common Gospel. I figgers to take one of th’ girls across th’ street.”

“Asked her yet?” asks Sig, with uh grin.

Buck polished off the bar and replaced the bottles before he replied—

 Prev. P 3/15 next