Conyers would come out on the porch and look down the road the way
the buggy went, like she expected to see that kid coming back on a white
pony with a red apple in his hand. Now, wasn't that like a woman? And
that brings up cats. 'I saw a mouse go in this hole,' says Mrs. Cat;
'you can go prize up a plank over there if you like; I'll watch this
hole.'
"About a quarter to one o'clock the lady comes out again, restless,
crying easy, as females do for their own amusement, and she looks
down that road again and listens. 'Now, ma'am,' says I, 'there's no
use watching cold wheel-tracks. By this time they're halfway to--'
'Hush,' she says, holding up her hand. And I do hear something coming
'flip-flap' in the dark; and then there is the awfulest war-whoop ever
heard outside of Madison Square Garden at a Buffalo Bill matinee. And up
the steps and on to the porch jumps the disrespectable Indian. The lamp
in the hall shines on him, and I fail to recognize Mr. J. T. Little
Bear, alumnus of the class of '91. What I see is a Cherokee brave, and
the warpath is what he has been travelling.
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