“Nope—not yet.”

They imbibes their drinks and wanders out on th’ porch.

“Dog-gone!” exclaims Sig. “I reckon I leaves my quirt over to th’ restaurant. Better go and git it.”

“Th’ walk will do us good,” grins Ren. “Come on.”

“Quirt?” asks th’ pretty one. “Oh yes, you mean that thing hangin’ on your wrist don’t you?”

“I—I reckon I plumb overlooked it,” stammers Sig. “Much obliged.”

“I jist come over, ma’am,” says Ren, “to see if you’d go to th’ Gospel meetin’ with me tonight.” He looks up and he’s gazin’ into th’ eyes of Matilda Beebee.

“Charmed,” says Matilda. “Yore pardner, Mr. Watson, might care to go with Rosalind.”

“Ma’am,” chuckles Sig, “I takes off my hat to you as uh mind reader. That lost quirt was jist an excuse to git over here, Sabe? I agreed to let Ren have first choice, ma’am, and yuh shore can depend on Ren to make no mistakes on th’ draw. Why I’ve seen that hombre discard one small pair to git uh chance to——”

“Sig,” says Ren sort-a hard like, “if we’re goin’ to church we’d better stable them broncs.”

And when he gits Sig outside he continues:

“You dog-goned, ossified, bow-legged, paralytic son of— Sig, what did I ever do to you, eh?”

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Sig, leanin against his horse and laughin’ so hard he almost pushes th’ bronc off its feet. “Mama mine, Renley, when it comes to pickin’ ’em yo’re there! ‘Charmed,’ says she and yore face looked like you’d been caught stealin’ uh sheep.”

Well, they takes th’ gentle sex to th’ meetin’, which is held in th’ old Mint dance hall, and, while Sig sits there and smiles into Rosalind’s face like uh dyin’ calf in uh mud-hole, and gittin’ hated fluently by th’ male portion of Piperock, pore old Ren is fidgitin’ alongside uh Matilda. Yuh could light uh match on his ears every time he hears anybody clear their throat, and it shore did seem as though every one in church had uh frog in their throats.

After th’ preacher gives th’ crowd th’ exit sign, Ren sort-a stalls around with Matilda and lets 

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