It would also
be, I hoped, an object lesson to my hostess. I performed the simple rite
in silence, yet with a manner that I meant to be eloquent, even
provocative. It was.
"Oh, sure!" spoke Ma Pettengill. "That there's one of your _per-diem_
gates; and there's another leading out of this field, and about six
beyond--all of 'em just as _per diem_ as this one; and, also, this here
ranch you're on now is one of your going concerns." She chuckled at this
and repeated it in a subterranean rumble: "A going concern--my sakes,
yes! It moved so fast you could see it go, and now it's went." Noisily
she relished this bit of verbal finesse; then permitted her fancy again
to trifle with it. "Yes, sir; this here going concern is plumb gone!"
With active malice I asked no question, maintaining a dignified silence
as I lightly manipulated a second paragon of gates. The lady now rumbled
confidentially to herself, and I caught piquant phrases; yet still I
forbore to question, since the woman so plainly sought to intrigue me.
Even when we skirted a clump of cottonwoods and came--through another
perfect gate--upon a most amazing small collection of ranch buildings,
dying of desertion, I retained perfect control of a rising curiosity.
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