human
It ain't no use, he repeated bitterly,
gpt
It _is_ all a dream. It was too good to be true--oh--well. A horse splashed through the creek and she saw Cinnabar coming toward her leading a blaze-faced buckskin. A woman was lashed in the saddle, her feet secured by means of a rope that passed beneath the horse's belly, her hands lashed to the horn, and her body held in place by means of other strands of rope that passed from horn to cantle. Her hat was gone and she sagged limply forward, her disarranged hair falling over her face to mingle with the mane of the horse. She looked like a dead woman. Hastening to meet them, Jennie pushed aside the hair and peered up into the white face:
human
My Lord! she cried,
gpt
Do you know her?
human
Know her! Of course I know her! It's the pilgrim's girl--that he shot Purdy over. An' a pity he didn't kill him! That Tex Benton, he got 'em acrost the bad lands--an' I heard they got married over in Timber City.
gpt
Who Tex?
human
No, the pilgrim, of course! Get to work now an' cut them ropes an' don't stand 'round askin' fool questions. Carry her in an' lay her on the bed, an' get the whisky, an' see if that water's boilin' an' pull off her boots, an' stick some more wood in the stove, an' then you clear out till I get her ondressed an' in bed!