"Poh, is it?" jeered old man Adams tremulously. "Clap your peep sight on
that, Hap Smith. Poh at me, will you?" and close up to the driver's eyes
he thrust the road house register with its newly pencilled inscription
so close that Hap Smith dodged and was some time deciphering the brief
legend.

"Beats me," he grunted, when he had done. He tossed the book to a table
as a matter of no moment and shrugged. "Anyways she's a nice girl, I
don't care where she abides, so to speak. An' me an' these other boys,"
with a sweeping glance at the four of his recent male passengers, "is
hungrier than wolves. How about it, Poke? Late hours, but considerin'
the kind of night the devil's dealin' we're lucky to be here a-tall. I
could eat the hind leg off a ten year ol' steer."

"Jus' because a girl's got a red mouth an' purty eyes ..." began old man
Adams knowingly. But Smith snorted "Poh!" at him again and clapped him
good naturedly on the thin old shoulders after such a fashion as to
double the old man up and send him coughing and catching at his breath
back to his chair by the fire.

Poke Drury, staring strangely at Smith, showed unmistakable signs of his
embarrassment. Slowly under several pairs of interested eyes his face
went a flaming red.

"I don't know what's got into me tonight," he muttered, slapping a very
high and shining forehead with a very soft, flabby hand. "I clean forgot
you boys hadn't had supper. An' now ... the grub's all in the kitchen
an' ... _she's_ in there, all curled up in a quilt an' mos' likely
asleep."