Phoebe caught him by the arm then, thinking he meant to make good
his threat--and it would not have been unlike Grant Imsen to do
so.
"Now, Grant, you let her go," she coaxed. "I know you aren't
drunk--of course, I knew it all the time. I told Hagar so. What
do you care what she says about you? You don't want to fight an
old woman, Grant--a man can't fight a woman--"
"You tell her you heap big liar!" Grant did not even look at
Phoebe, but his purpose seemed to waver in spite of himself.
"You all time kay bueno. You all time lie." He gripped her more
firmly, and turned his head slightly toward Phoebe. "You'd be
tired of it yourself if she threw it into you like she does into
me, Mother Hart. It's got so I can't ride past this old hag in
the trail but she gives me the bad eye, and mumbles into her
blanket. And if I look sidewise, she yowls all over the country
that I'm drunk. I'm getting tired of it!" He shook the squaw as
a puppy shakes a shoe--shook her till her hair quite hid her ugly
old face from sight.
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